


Reminders Gilded Gold

by ilerya82



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilerya82/pseuds/ilerya82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you want the worst of the worst taken down, you call in the best of the best to do it.  Working for rival Covert Ops Agencies, Emma Swan and Killian Jones team up to take down the biggest bad of all - and it's a take down that affects them both on a very personal level.  Can they learn to trust one another before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't let me darken your door, it's not what I came here for

**Author's Note:**

> I debated posting this before it was completely finished but the idea is much larger than just a little one-shot AU, so, this my friends will be a few parts. I have 8,000 words already, so weekly updates are doable for me and I'm almost there with the end of it - possibly a tale in 6 parts (at worst I'm thinking). Updates will happen on Saturdays/Sundays.
> 
> The song Reminder by Mumford & Sons (excellent tune btw) heavily influenced me. You'll find some of the lyrics as chapter titles because the song inspired me, but there will be other songs interspersed. They are all fairly angsty but I do picture CS when I hear them and my mind always makes up little ideas based around them. See the end of the chapters for notes on the song that fits it most.
> 
> Written for CS AU Week on tumblr.

* * *

 

Emma Swan popped an eye open at the shrill ringing of her phone.  Four in the morning was not the time for a phone call, in any possible reality.  Grabbing the phone she pressed the green accept button and pressed it to her ear.

“Hullo?” she managed to choke out, her voice groggy and her brain sleep addled.  

“ _This is the Father.”_

_Shit!_ This was exactly what she didn’t need right now!  She flipped over and sat bolt upright in bed.

“Dad, are you ok?”

_“Targets acquired – messenger packet delivery to be accepted at oh five hundred.  Confirm acceptance.”_

“Yes.  Yes, Dad, I understand.” 

The synthetic voice the company insisted on was voice controlled.  The operative had to confirm that they would accept the job in the right way.  It was meant to be as non-intrusive as possible to everyday life.  If she’d had a partner in her bed, the covert “father” calling would not arouse suspicion at four in the morning if there was a family emergency, or in her case, a hot target.  Not that there was anyone in her bed these days…

_“Acceptance confirmed.  Messenger packet delivery at the accepted coordinates for oh five hundred.  Good luck Agent Swan.”_

The call disconnected with a click.  She didn’t bother faking any reply or end to the conversation, there wasn’t anyone to hear it anyways.  She heard thunder rolling outside as she slung her feet over the side of the bed.

Emma made her way into the bathroom, padding across the plush carpeted floor with all thoughts of sleep abandoned as she rubbed at her eyes.

“It’s a beautiful morning to kick some ass…”

 

* * *

 

Almost an hour later, Emma found herself showered, dressed and seated in her office at Fabled Story Enterprises waiting for her messenger packet.  She twisted a strand of her golden hair around her right index finger as she sipped at the coffee her assistant had placed on her desk.  She eyed the bear claw on the plate that she hadn’t yet had the gumption to touch.  It was too early for this shit. 

If only her cover story was the truth, Emma’s life wouldn’t half as hard as it really was.  Fabled Story Enterprises was a covert intelligence operation that disguised itself as a publishing house, with Emma as one of the many acquisition agents giving her free reign to excuse any necessary travels for target engagements.  Oh sure, the company did actually publish works of fiction but that wasn’t where they made most of their money.  Corporate espionage, cooperative governmental targets, when the government needed to keep things off the public radar and totally quiet, Fabled Story was who you turned to.  Want to execute rogue foreign nationalists?  Sure.  Need a steamy bodice ripper to read on your next vacation?  Fabled Story has you covered!  If only all Emma had to do was read and edit manuscripts… It would be a blessing!

The publishing house was filled with current and former field agents, even the assistants they used in the secretarial pool were former military operatives from various countries.  Walking in to Fabled Story was like walking into the United Nations of Spies.  Well, the United Capitalist Nation of Spies anyways.  Mary Margaret Blanchard tapped on the doorframe, with a manila envelope in one hand and Emma’s duffle bag in the other. 

_And we’re go…_

“Emma?  You’re newest acquisition is here for your review,” Mary Margaret was overly chipper as she entered the office, closing the door behind her. 

Emma pushed a recessed button beneath the desk top and activated the static device that was created to be an anti-bug.  The security in the building was top notch twenty-four hours a day, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t have competition looking to learn all the agencies secrets.  They were one of several major outfits who operated in the more seedy underbellies of the world, and just like in other industries there were always ones who were looking to poach the competitions targets and resources. 

“Hmmm, where am I off to?” 

“London.”

The question turned Mary Margaret’s voice more serious as she continued to the chairs in front of her desk.  She dropped the duffle on to one and slid her body into the other with a catlike grace.  She was made for fieldwork, but deciding to have a family had been top on her friend’s wish list.  Something normal, true, or at least as true as you could be when you worked for Fabled Story.  When she and David had married, she’d mentioned that she would be looking to join the secretarial pool when and if they were ever blessed with a child.  When she’d finally conceived, Emma had asked for her former partner and best friend to take over as her assistant in the home office because she couldn’t bear to think of someone with Mary Margaret’s skills becoming an assistant to anyone else.  Little Neal was approaching his second birthday, and his mother was mostly safe from harm being here in the office. 

“Digital or paper?”  Emma’s eyes slid over the envelope.  It wasn’t very thick, but then, they didn’t always have much intel on their targets.  This is could be an assassination, but it could also be a protection detail.  There wasn’t much this company _didn’t_ do. 

“Digital,” Mary Margaret paused before continuing, “You aren’t alone on this one either.  There’s some… Competition.”

Her friend sounded out the word like it was some kind of disease.  Competition was plague like in this industry.  Emma couldn’t help but sigh.  This wasn’t going to be easy. 

“Do we know who?”

“Not a clue, just that your target is a desperately wanted man.”

“Aren’t they all…”

Mary Margaret slid the envelope across the desk but didn’t remove her hands from it when Emma grabbed for it. 

“You know,” she started and then stopped.  Emma could tell that her friend was trying to gather herself and frame this little piece of advice the right way so as not to offend.  They’d known each other for years, Emma had followed Mary Margaret into the agency within a matter of months.  She couldn’t bear to be without her friend and refused to accept the stories that had been fed to her upon her supposed “death” in a combat training mission.

They’d been through hell and back together.  There wasn’t anything that they couldn’t share, even if it was a little harder for Emma with all her emotionally protective barriers.

“Spit it out already!”

“You could stand a little help with this one, and Neverland is offering one of its top operatives to assist here.”

Her eyes narrowed at this thought.  Neverland was their main competition in most sorties, so why would they be brokering a pact here?  Who exactly was this target anyways?

Mary Margaret rose to her feet, retreating towards the door.  When she had her hand on the handle, Emma finally spoke.

“What did Mills say about this?”

“Regina?  She was completely on board with it, but I think it’s because she’s seeing the potential for takeovers here.  You know that it wasn’t enough to gain control of Sherwood, she wants the biggest agency in Europe under her thumb too, and that would be Neverland.” 

Mary Margaret flung her a smile over her shoulder as she pulled open the door and escaped to the outer office, sealing Emma and her thoughts in to be briefed.  She tugged open the fold on the envelope and tugged the single piece of paper out.  A single micro SD card taped to the white blank page. 

“Let’s find out just what makes you so important to have me out of bed at four in the morning, Mr. Target…”

Emma slipped the drive in to the card reader on her laptop and her screen was immediately bombarded with the details of her engagement in London. 

Robert Gold, billionaire CEO of Goldbrokers, persona non grata in numerous countries worldwide due to his ties to guerilla warfare and the drug trade, and in her own life for being the father of the man who had broken her heart, stared back at her from the detailed brief. 

“Well, you never get a second chance to assassinate you’re ex’s father.” 

Emma skimmed the brief searching for flight details and contact information for Neverland’s HQ in London.  Her flight was leaving Bangor International at ten, just enough time to make sure she had everything she needed.  The duffle would be packed with the appropriate documentation and the keys to the safe house and local weapons locker.  She scanned the QR for Neverland’s CO Malcolm Pan’s contact information and tucked her phone into her jacket pocket.  She locked the laptop down and slid the card into the safe pocket in her bra before slipping from behind the desk.

As she opened the door, Mary Margaret turned her head with a jolt, a look of concern on her face.  Of course she’d known who the target was, she wouldn’t be her assistant if she didn’t.  Emma frowned momentarily and then set a steely expression on her face.  There was no backing out of this one, personal issues or not. 

“Kiss little Neal for me, wheels up at ten so I won’t have a chance to take him out on our bouncy castle date this weekend,” she said softly, wincing before adding, “I’ll be in touch if I need anything from this end but I think Neverland might actually be a good idea this time.”

“You’ll get him, Emma.  You always get your man.”

She smiled, although without total confidence and moved towards the elevator with purpose.  Her bag felt light as air on her arm although it contained her laptop, documentation, boarding passes, keys and a selection of light reading for the flight.  It was the SD card snapped in to her bra that felt like lead, a dead weight sucking her down into oblivion. 

Sure, she always got her man, but at what cost to herself?

 

* * *

 

“Jones, I’ve just had a rather interesting conversation on my private line,” Malcolm Pan drawled as he crept in to the office. 

Killian had been trying to finish up a few things before departing on his “vacation,” or what the head honcho was calling a vacation.  The thought that he could use a little separation, to see if that changed his perspective on how he operated in the field.  The said he was a risk-taker – throwing caution to the wind like he had nothing to live for.  Well, they were right in that regard, he didn’t really have much to live for outside of the agency besides his blood boiling desire to avenge the love of his life. 

So he’d been a little careless.  So what if he’d thrown himself into the fray too many times without certainty of survival?  And covers?  Those were made to be broken for just the right reasons, weren’t they?

“I don’t see how this concerns me, mate, seeing as how you and the agency shrinks decided that I’ve got a death wish,” Killian growled at his boss with a hint of menace.  They had an interesting relationship, he and Malcolm Pan – not quite friendship and not quite mentor/mentee in its nature.  It was more like family, which was what he sort of still was even if the person they had shared claim to had been five years dead.

“Now, now, Killian.  No need to take this out on me, besides I haven’t signed off on that report yet anyways.”

“Haven’t you?  Weren’t you the one who ordered it in the first place?”

The frown on Malcolm’s face let him know that the barb had hit home.  They’d been thick as thieves once upon a time when the world was bright and full of colour, but all of that had changed in the blink of an eye.  Or rather, the detonation of a car bomb meant to take him out that had instead taken out the woman he loved.  Now Killian wondered if Malcolm even remembered his cousin at all when he would never forget. 

“I did order the psych eval because I was concerned for my best operative.  You’ve been through the ringer these last few years Jones, you have to know that I understand your need for vengeance, but I also know that this world would be sorely lacking should you not be in it.  I let you run around and call most of the shots for _five_ _years_ Killian!  How long was I expected to watch my best mate run into hailing gunfire before his knack for surviving ran out?”

It took a lot to push Malcolm over the edge, he was normally very calm and collected.  He didn’t skirt around issues unless it suited his master plan.  He knew just how to play every piece on the board when Neverland stepped into an op.  He was like the ultimate puppet master in a never ending game of chess. 

“I’ve proven many times that I’m a survivor, mate,” Killian hissed.  He wasn’t in the mood to be played with anymore.  If Malcolm signed that eval recommendation and sent him on this _vacation_ he didn’t know how he could continue to survive.  He was so close to cracking this, he could feel it in his bones. 

“Killian, I just finished speaking to Fabled Story and they have the mark of a lifetime but they need a little assistance.  They’re sending in their best operative and I thought that I should offer mine as an olive branch,” Malcolm winced a little.  Fabled Story was their number one competitor and with the recent acquisition of Sherwood, they were inching closer to be the strongest agency in the game. 

“I’m not working with that infuriating Mills woman, you can just bloody well forget it!”

“That’s not who their sending – and believe me, mate, I wouldn’t want to tangle with her either,” Malcolm leaned in and whispered with a wink, “I think the only one who would ever want to tangle with _her_ is that perpetual outlaw Locksley.”

This garnered a laugh from both men, knowing that Sherwood had been taken over by Fabled Story through a rather deliciously amorous merger that left the two agencies CEO’s in bed together literally and figuratively.  This development had been the source of great amusement around Neverland.  They’d always thought that Regina would do anything to amass more power in the corporate espionage game, but never had they dreamt she would fall in love with a rival.  The merger had been a great success, both personally and professionally for both Robin and Regina.  The merged operations of Sherwood and Fabled Story worked better than ever before, solidifying them in the field.  Neverland continued to tackle the darker ops, while Sherwood had become the corporate espionage specialists.

“I’ve decided _not_ to sign off just yet – but this is only because you _are_ my best operative and this is a job too great to ignore.  There are other networks who would kill to be a part of this – quite frankly, they might, and I think that Fabled Story would have a tough time without such a great _survivor_ on their side,” Malcolm was playing with his words again.  There was something he wasn’t telling him – something more important behind this op, and he was doubting it was the potential to associate themselves with Fabled Story.

“Who’s the target?”

“Hmm, well, someone you would love to get your hands on, trust me.  I think just about everyone would.  It’s the operative they’ve chosen that shows they mean business.  She had a personal connection with the family of the target – and he’s one of the most wanted men in the world.”

“No, not –“

“Yes, it is.”

His jaw clenched as the rage bubbled inside him just below the surface.  Almost every lead he had into the bombing traced back to Robert Gold and his more nefarious dealings.  He’d been the active operative in charge of the takedown in South Africa – but Gold had evaded capture.  They couldn’t even link the operation directly back to him or Gold Brokers, all they had was the confession of a dying child soldier that the man they were looking for went by “Mr. Gold” and that didn’t carry much weight with the members of the UN.  The man was virtually untouchable because of all his past good deeds, he had too many friends in high places to overthrow him due to his friends in the darkest corners of the world. 

“Whom is Fabled Story’s operative that she has personal past connection with him?”

“Emma Swan, that little blonde thing – they call her the Saviour, she’s like a one woman cavalry unit.  She’s their most promising operative – rivals even your collars, Killian.  As to what the connection is, she wasn’t forthcoming about that and neither was Mills when I spoke with her yesterday when the job rolled in to her.  She values her agent’s privacy, I guess.”

“Perhaps,” he muttered softly. 

There was something about the way Malcolm talked about her – Emma Swan, it wasn’t a name he knew but he’d heard of the Saviour.  She’d been there – in Budapest – when it was raining bullets all around him and his sheltered safety was about to give out.  She’d been the Hail Mary, the one that had cause the fighting to stop so he could slip away with her perfect aim, picking off the others with the precision of a military trained assassin.  Malcolm wanted her, for what exactly he wasn’t quite sure, but there was a reason this was so appealing to him, to have the Saviour working on their side.

“She said she would be in late – looking for a rendezvous in Piccadilly tomorrow morning.  That is, unless you’re really keen to start reeling him in?”

Killian wasn’t looking to extend this parley with the boss.  He and Pan had fallen so far out of synch in the last five years that he wasn’t even sure they truly were the mates they had been when Malcolm had founded Neverland.  He rolled his shoulders, raking a hand through his hair as he slipped further back in his chair. 

“Better give me the mobile.  At least I can make contact tonight and arrange something unless she’s keen to get started as well.”

Not many could dismiss their boss and get away with it, but Malcolm had said it himself – Killian Jones was Neverland’s best operative.  He kept them at the top of their game, even when he was pulling reckless stunts in his own sadistic game of Russian roulette.  He always got the job done, always made his mark. 

“Remember, that eval is still on my desk.  If I hear anything that makes me think you’re playing fast and loose with –“

“It’s not going to happen, mate.”

“I will sign it and I won’t look back, Killian, I mean it.  It better not,” Malcolm threatened as he slid a piece of paper across the desk. 

Scribbled there was the mobile number, a local one, looked like a burner number at first glance.  The name _Emma Swan_ was written in Malcolm’s fine script above the black numbers.  He’d stared at the scrap of paper long enough that he hadn’t noticed Pan’s retreat from his office, but the threat was still there mulling about his brain. 

Robert Gold – he was certain it was his work in South Africa that had caused Milah’s death, and if Gold was responsible for South Africa, he was responsible for that too.  All Killian had to do was prove it.  Perhaps, there would be something of value to be learned from Emma Swan, the Saviour he already owed his life to.  All he had to do was call her, win her over.  They had both danced with Gold’s dirty deeds on a more personal level, maybe he could use that to his advantage.  Maybe they could both have the retribution they deserved.

A little last minute research was in order.  Who exactly is Emma Swan, and why would she want to take down Gold?  He unlocked the laptop screen that he’d locked when Pan had entered his office.  It was time to get to work.  They didn’t call him Hook for nothing…


	2. is there a powder to erase this? is it dissolvable and tasteless? you can't imagine how I hate this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This keeps getting away from me! I was ready to post this early, and yet, here we are right on time because I decided to go back and add something I thought was missing! Brace yourself, from here on out it is going to amp up considerably and I'm toying with adding another voice to the POV fold.

 

* * *

 

 This was the first time she’d flown commercial in a long while, and the upgrade to First Class had served her well.  This op was already not going to plan.  Emma had planned on a relaxing, solitary flight – but that was not to be.  She called Malcolm Pan in the car on the way to the airport, giving him her UK network phone number so that his operative could get in touch when she landed.  She’d fumbled with some settings on her Fabled Story issue phone and set the network switch to occur when she was somewhere over the Atlantic today.  With that accomplished, she had stared out the tinted windows of the car – Regina’s driver promising to have her there in plenty of time to clear through customs officials. 

She’d cleared customs in record time, found her boarding pass and made her way to the First Class lounge.  She’d fumbled with her duffle a little, searching through it to make sure that the keys to the London safe house were indeed in there, as well as the customary one outfit change because heaven knows you can lose luggage just as well as the ordinary civilians, especially when flying commercial.  She knew Mary Margaret would have it all there for her.  She wished she was here with her.  That this could be like Budapest, their last fun run before her friend had found out she was pregnant. 

“What’ll it be?”

Emma eyes snapped up to the bartender, not exactly sure what it was she wanted.  He barely registered on her.  Dark blue eyes, pale blonde hair, but something vaguely familiar in the way he leaned against the counter top. 

“Rum and diet?  With a twist of lime, please,” Emma sighed as she ordered.  She may not have had a mother to teach her politeness and manners, but her many years in the intelligence sector had taught her that you caught more flies with honey.  She offered the barkeep a sad smile, and turned back to the iPhone in her hands, flipping through pictures of Mary Margaret, David and baby Neal on their last bouncy castle date.  She’d miss this weekend’s outing, and it pained her to miss any time with her godson. 

“It’s never easy to leave your family when duty calls,” an accented male voice had taken up residence in the stool beside her in the lounge.  Emma pulled the phone to her chest and laughed as she glanced up to find herself seated beside Robin Locksley.

“Yeah,” she sighed and glanced down at the phone again, the next picture was one of Henry, Neal and Roland from the barbeque that Regina and Robin had held last weekend.  “How do you do it?  How do you manage to stay sane and be away from them?”

He was peering over her shoulder at the photo.  The adored each other.  Henry, the oldest and Regina’s son through a miraculous adoption when he was just days old, and Roland, Robin’s precocious four year old both snuggled up to Neal’s chubby little toddler body.  All three had wide smiles with chocolate ice cream mustaches, their smiles glowing like the sun at just how happy they were to be together on such a beautiful day. 

“You do just this – stare at photos and make long distance phone calls.  They’re the first thought on your mind each morning and the last as you tuck yourself in to sleep each night.  You somehow keep going, keep breathing, keep fighting for the moment that you’re together again,” Robin smiled and showed her his own photo that kept him going of Regina, Roland and Henry, “And somehow you make it through, and though you dread the next business trip, you manage to survive.  You just have to remember who you’re doing this for, why it’s so important.”

_You remember who you’re doing this for.  As if I could forget who I’m doing this for,_ what _I’m going this for._

“She’s a wise woman, your wife,” Emma laughed then and pressed the phone into her jacket pocket, “Back to London so soon?”

“Sooner than I wanted, that’s for sure, but even though Will can hold down the fort, it still requires that I put in some face time in the office,” Robin’s answer was light and happy, even if his expression didn’t really fit.  He wasn’t happy to be going back at all and leaving his family behind, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing his job, and neither should she. 

“That’s the problem with being the face of a company – in more ways than one!”

“Laugh while you can Miss Swan, I think you’re becoming the face of another company whether you like it or not.  Let’s see how you feel when your time in the spotlight comes!”

That had them both laughing.  Even insinuating that she could ever be the face of a company… Regina Mills had no intentions of stepping away from her empire, new husband and recently acquired second son or not, she wasn’t going to give up her life’s work and her family empire. 

“I doubt that Locksley, but you know the Missus much better than I do!”

_“Flight 457 to London is now boarding passengers in rows 1 through 10.”_

“I think that’s us.  Come on, Swan, I’ll regale you with tales of how International First Class is _so_ much better than the regular First Class on commercial flights,” Robin slung his duffle over his shoulder and slid off the stool. 

_Maybe this flight won’t be a completely boring mess…_

“You’re on, Locksley,” Emma’s chipper mood returning at the thought of sharing the flight with a friend.  She took one last look at the bartender – there was something about him that she couldn’t quite shake, and it was obvious to her that he’d been paying as much attention to her conversation as the section of the counter he was pretending to wipe down.  She catalogued the thought for more investigation and slipped out of the lounge laughing with Robin about what the boys had been up to this morning.

 

* * *

 

_Reports are coming in from across the UK – an explosion has occurred on a passenger ferry in the middle of the English Channel.  It’s still unclear if this was some sort of malfunction onboard or if this was an act of sabotage.  Stay tuned as we continue to bring you the latest updates._

 

* * *

 

Their seats were as close together as these new International First Class Pods got – he was in the little cubicle right next door, but they were completely closed off from the world.  Emma likened the experience to what traveling on a train was like, not that it was something she had done lately, but the accommodations were similar.  The pods were like small sleeper train compartments; a twin side bed (for longer international flights), a small work space and chair complete with a television monitor, and the standard overhead compartment that would be found in any airplane.  There were ten of these International First Class pods, another section of Business Class Pods that were less private and then followed by a much smaller Economy Class than there had been before. 

Emma took a look around as she stowed her bag in the overhead compartment.  Boarding will still going on and she wasn’t exactly sure how the new boarding procedures went.  Didn’t they usually go through the emergency procedures before take-off?  How would she watch them or was there some sort of private service where the cabin crew came along and presented to each member in the pods individually?  

She’d started inspecting the television monitor on the desk when she heard the pod door slide open and turned her head to see Robin standing in the doorway. 

“Isn’t this great?  This is what _I_ call First Class!”

“I have no idea _what_ to make of this!  The last flight Regina had me on I was still in Economy… At the back… by the _bathroom_!”

“Ahhhh, my love was a little miffed at you then?” Robin had hit the nail on the head, but she thought she should offer him a little in return.

“More like miffed at you, I think, that was my last visit to Sherwood,” Emma winced at the memory. 

That had not been a good trip at all – Regina was in fact a little more than mad at Robin, but her wrath had come about in such a way that the only ones suffering were those agents being sent out on assignment.  To say Budapest was a bad decision – well that would be putting it mildly.  Fabled Story and Sherwood’s last collaborative operation before the “merger” had been a hailstorm or gunfire, bombings and death. 

“Ahhh, yes, I remember that well.  Neverland was none too pleased that I had to call you in,” Robin sighed and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah… So, how exactly do we fasten our seat belts and keep the trays locked in the upright position in one of these things?”

 

* * *

 

_Breaking News from the coast of France – The explosion on the passenger ferry bound for England was an act of terrorism.  The English Prime Minister will be addressing the media shortly – rumours are swilling that several groups are claiming responsibility for the bombing.  The death toll currently stands at 31, with 80 injured and several still missing in the waters of the English Channel._

 

* * *

 

He’s searched every database he can think of and turned up slim to no information on the mysterious Emma “the Saviour” Swan.  There are reports of a Saviour, a guardian angel of operatives coming in and rescuing broken missions that seemed beyond hope.  When the odds were not stacked in your favour, it seemed that Emma Swan was the one you wanted to have in your back pocket. 

There’s a write up about a golden haired sharpshooter, dropping in to battle through a hole in the glass ceiling of the British Museum dangling on a cable from a chopper above, taking out an entire room full of Shadowed Dagger operatives without harming a single hostage.  There’s another speaking of a carefully placed bomb that was diffused in the final beating seconds by said Saviour – keeping safe the countless civilian lives inside the Empire State Building and pissing off the seedy underbellies of the world. 

Despite what he’s been able to find in the dark net, he’d still not found out anything that was of any use to him.  This called for a little good old fashioned sleuthing.  A phone call to her office, maybe under the guise of being a prospective new writer to fit with the cover of Fabled Story.  He debated his story for a few moments, but ultimately by the time the phone started ringing, he wasn’t really sure how he should handle this. 

“Fabled Story Enterprises, this is Mal.  How may I direct your call?”

“Ahh, Emma Swan’s office please,” Killian scratched behind his ear, tilting his head to the side. 

“One moment please.”

The melodious hum of the elevator music version of _You’ll Never Find_ croons through the sound system as he’s left on hold for the transfer.  He finds himself humming along to the song, it’s a classic – he can’t help himself.  A click on the line signifies that the call is being picked up on the other end.

“Emma Swan’s office?”

He recognized that voice – he couldn’t quite place it, but he knew the voice –

“Uh, hello, lass.  My name is –“

“Spit it out, Hook,” it wasn’t the Mills woman – that was a voice he would certainly never forget but this one was steely sweet.  _Snow._

“Forgive me, but am I speaking with the astounding operative formerly known as Snow White?”

“What sort of trouble are you in now, Hook?  I haven’t heard anything but trouble out of you for the last few years, but it’s been a little quieter since you tangled with the Taliban in Budapest.  I still haven’t thanked you properly for that – my partner died because of your recklessness.”

“I am sorry about the Huntsman, lass.  It wasn’t my intention for things to go down that way – I was just looking out for your lovely Prince –“

“We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.”

“The way I saw it, they had him cornered and without a little intervention _Charming_ would have –“

“ _Charming_ would have been just fine.  I was there, _Emma_ was there – “

“Apologies, lass,” came Killian’s choked reply, that night replayed in his nightmares on a regular basis.  “I only called to inquire about this Saviour.  It isn’t often that I get to work with the heroes, I wondered what I might expect from such a momentous occasion.”

Silence hung on the line.  Killian scratched behind his ear, hoping he’d been able to express just how sorry he truly was and that it might endear him to Snow in the hopes that she would share something with her.  He knew she was out of the game – he did speak to her _charming_ husband every now and again when he was out in the field.  She’d chosen motherhood over the game, and that was probably one of the most honourable things he could think of.  He didn’t think her husband would be far behind her should they decide to have any more children than the one he’d heard tale of on their last encounter. 

“So you’re their best, huh?”  Snow spat back, her tone incredulous.  It was going to be quite some time before she offered him any solace.  He could see this truly wasn’t going to get him anywhere. 

“Aye, I believe that was what Pan called me – and I believe that was why he offered the best assistance to Ms. Mills he came to me with the assignment,” Killian wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase the next part of this conversation, but he aired on the side of caution, “I am eternally grateful for the aid that the Saviour provided in Budapest, I will also always regret how quickly the situation escalated, but the mission was a success for your enterprise as well as for Sherwood _and_ I managed to take down my mark at the same time.  This time, we’re playing on the same team Snow.  Two Captains brokering for the lead is going to be a problem and unless I have some insight into whom it is I’m going to be working with in such close company, I fear we might not be up to the challenge.  I tend to work better alone, and from what I see, so does the Saviour.”

He tapped something out into the instant message system on his laptop as he waited for her response.  He was going to need a little technological help, even though he preferred the older methodologies, Killian had to admit that some of the gadgetry the R&D lab came up with was useful in situations such as these. 

“She’s a lot like you, Hook, preferring to work alone – but she’s not needlessly reckless.  For the last few years, you have been nothing but reckless.  You _changed_ , Hook – you weren’t always like this,” her voice had dropped to a whisper. 

Killian had all but forgotten the times when Neverland and Fabled Story had been tentative partners.  He’d worked well with the Huntsman and Prince Charming before the lovely Snow White had come along.  They’d been as close to friends as you could have in a world of covert ops.  That had been before – before Milah’s death, before his brother’s death.  Hell, it had been before he’d even _met_ Milah. 

“A lot changes when you become the villain.” 

It was barely a whisper, so quiet he wasn’t even sure he’d heard her.  He’d turned towards the darkness after Milah’s death, he knew he had.  He’d been reckless, careless, and it hadn’t done him any favours as of yet, but he was closing in on what he wanted. 

“I have only one word of advice for you – patience.  It takes all kinds of patience to work with the Saviour.  I should know, we were partnered for a time and now I run her office for her.  Lots of cream and sugar, Hook, and patience.”

“Thank you, lass.  For everything.”

“You’re not a villain Hook, you’ve just… Lost your way.”

Without warning the call disconnected and Killian sat stunned, mouth agape at her closing words.  Surely he was a villain.  He thought of no one but himself and the vengeful rage that had fueled his every move since Milah’s death five years previous. 

Milah had been the world to him and he’d loved her with abandon.  Her maturity counter balancing his youth, but she’d chased freedom and adventure with him and followed passion.  She was a free bird, released from years of imprisonment in a gilded cage.  He’d never pushed her for the details of the life she’d had before they’d met, the sorrow that she had known to date had ended the moment she had met him, for all he was concerned.  He would not cage her, he would endeavour to make her feel empowered, respected and loved.  He had been, and always would be, a very patient man. 

The knock on his door drew him out of his shock, and he spun in his chair to come face to face with his favourite tech advisor, William Smee.  The man smiling and looked to be bubbling with excitement over whatever it was that he was holding in his hands.  Killian was in for it with all the techno babble.  He could feel it!

 

* * *

 

_The group claiming responsibility for this morning’s attack is calling themselves the Shadowed Dagger.  They’ve linked themselves to many terrorist operations in Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and most notably the failed assassination attempt at the life of billionaire CEO Robert Gold several years ago in South Africa.  Many know that Gold has seemingly gone in to hiding after the failed attempt with his recent appearances being unannounced and finding him flanked by security personnel._

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t thought about it until after Smee had entered his office, he’d assumed everything was safe, that everything was fine because Neverland was under lock & key and 24 hour security detail.  One of the devices Smee had brought him to play with was one he hadn’t really thought of before – nor used in his own office even though there _should_ have been one equipped there. 

“This ring, it will send you a little jolt, sir, not painful but…  Whenever it is near a listening device.  Being on your hand, having to be unassuming in the field… It should give you the opportunity to know where you can speak a little more freely.”

He was right.  When he’d placed his hand on to his mobile he felt the zap, it wasn’t painful but it did rouse his suspicion.  The phone was never out of his sight, not since Milah he hadn’t left the damn thing go.  Killian moved his hand towards the button that was installed under his desk and he pressed it.  Normally, you would hear a high pitched frequency but there was nothing.  Damned fool!  He scratched behind his ear, looking up at his associate sheepishly, and he wondered if the man could still read his tells.

“And, ugh, sir, if you’d just come down to the lab with me,” Smee’s fingers fidgeting along the edge of his sweater, he did remember the tells! “I have a couple of alterations I’d like to do for you.  They should improve your safety tremendously sir.”

He nodded at the man and rose to follow him, holding the mobile in the hand that was not wearing the ring and motioned as though to bring his hands together.  He even winced when the ringed hand came close to the phone.  If Smee hadn’t understood before, he could tell by the look in his eyes that he did now. 

He followed the stout man to the elevator.  They rode in silence the R&D lab, a matter of moments until they were stepping out in to the pristine white room.  He followed Smee to the back of the lab, and when he opened the door to a smaller electronics lab at the back, not a soul looked up from their workstations.  In the lab, Smee was much more confident – he was the man in charge, where in the field office even a lowly piece of paper was above William Smee in the chain of command. 

“Jack, I could use a hand back here.  Now.  Please.”

Even his voice was stronger down here.

They found themselves in a back corner of the electronics lab, Smee taking the proffered mobile from Killian’s hand and beginning to disassemble the casing.  Jack had joined them and was holding several insulation baggies, as if sensing what they were about to do. 

“Bloody hell, Smee!  What are you doing?”  He knew exactly what he was doing, but he wanted to hear it from his associate. 

“Relax, Hook, we’re perfectly free to do whatever we need to.  You’re standing in a Faraday cage – whatever feeds they had were disconnected the moment we walked inside the electronics lab.  First, I want to know when the last time you ran your bug search in your office because I noticed what happened there.” 

Both men were hard at work removing little pieces of hardware that had been installed onto the circuit boards of his mobile.  Little bits of metal glinting in the hot overhead light.  The eyes of his assistant Jack bugged a little at mention of the bug search and something being awry.  When all pieces were off and slipped into the insulation baggies, Jack made to leave them with the offending items in tow but Smee stopped him. 

“Jack, thank you for your skilled hands, but I can handle this part.  The less people who are involved, the better wouldn’t you say?”

The younger man hung his head a little and carried himself back to his workstation.  Smee continued working on the mobile, piecing it back together with skilled and patient hands.  When he shot Killian a look that was understood to mean exactly what it looked like… _Well?_

“I don’t know,” Killian had dropped his voice, a little out of shame, but mainly out of the need for secrecy, “It’s been a good while… Come now, Mr. Smee, you’ve been around for quite a number of years and know what a scoundrel I can be.”  His voice dropped lower still.  “Apparently, it’s gotten worse.”

Smee rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue against his teeth at the thought.  The two men had known each other for a very long time.  In fact, Killian was the reason that Smee was here in the first place and it probably added to his inferiority complex when he spoke in the offices with people, as out there Killian had been the one in complete control and Smee had been his right hand man. 

“Truthfully, I hadn’t thought anything of it.  This building is secure, I thought that everything would be safe here.”

“There are dark things afoot, sir.”

_Dark things afoot?  Darker than what’s been going on out there?_

“But this is a bigger problem, I never let that mobile out of my sight,” Killian kept his voice just as low as Smee’s as he watched the man reassemble the casing on the phone.  If Smee was cautious, there was something more going on here in Neverland than he could fathom.  Some sort of insubordination?  Did Pan know about any of this? 

“But you sleep, don’t you?  Of course you do, no one can stay awake forever and that means that this phone was out of your hands and your eyesight for as long as you slept,” he sealed the casing and powered the phone back on and checked through several cycles of menus and prompts before hooking it up to his laptop to analyze the software. 

Killian leaned his body over the table, his head as close to Smee’s as he possibly get from the opposite side of the table. 

“Smee, you’ve always been a man of your word,” his voice rumbled, a guttural growling sound, “I should hope that you can determine where this bug came from and exactly _when_ it was placed.  Good form has its rewards.”

He knew the man considered his words only for a moment.  William Smee’s loyalty was to Killian Jones _not_ Malcolm Pan, he would always be his captain.  The cursory nod he gave as he detached the phone from his workstation signified as much. 

“Oh captain, my captain.”

Smee held the phone out to him as his oath – there was no bond stronger than this man’s word.  They had been through hell and back together, and Smee had never let him down.  Killian took the phone and slid it into his pocket, nodding at Smee, he turned and proceeded towards the exit.  He needed to call in a Saviour…

 

* * *

 

_Robert Gold, CEO of Goldbrokers, was seen today in Paris with a new woman on his arm.  TMZ has discovered that her name is Belle French, 29, an English Literature major from the University of Sydney in Australia.  Miss French was seen canoodling with the billionaire over tea and cake in an upscale café.  What could this beauty see in such a man?  Their relationship is unclear at this time, but stay tuned and we’ll bring you the latest as it develops._

 

* * *

Somewhere over the Atlantic had come and passed, which surprised Emma when her cell rang as she lazed on the cot in her pod.  She’d thought she’d set the phone to Airplane mode before takeoff.  Maybe she had, but the way the incoming number was displayed told her this was a local, not international call, meaning it had followed protocol and flipped over to Fabled Story’s UK carrier.  Maybe that was when it had flipped back in to regular service.  She didn’t recognize the number, but she hazards a guess that it’s probably the Neverland operative and decides to take her chances.  She wasn’t sleeping anyway, and she didn’t want to read any more of the drivel of a manuscript that Mary Margaret had left in her bag.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounds as sleep heavy as her body feels, but she’s determined to make the most of this first conversation. 

“I’m – I’m sorry, lass, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The lilting accent came across the line in a crackle of static.  The connection was terrible, she’d had a feeling it would be but she wasn’t thinking it would be this bad.  Emma pushed herself off the cot and moved towards the doorway of the pod, finding the crackling reducing the further she got from the television monitor.

“No, no I wasn’t sleeping.  I could probably use the sleep, but it wasn’t happening.  I’m guessing you’re my meeting tomorrow?”

“Killian Jones, at your service, but people generally call me by my more colourful moniker, Hook.”

“As in Captain Hook?  Bad perm, waxed moustache and all?” 

_You have got to be kidding me!  Neverland takes things too far._

“I think you may have me confused with a pirate from a Disney cartoon, love.”

“If the shoe fits,” she mumbled softly wishing the static would return to cover her tendency to open mouth insert both feet.

“I had considered the moustache, but it was a passing fancy I assure you.  I wouldn’t dream of a perm, it just wouldn’t suit my image as a dashing rapscallion.  Or would you prefer, scoundrel?”

He was the embodiment of flirtation – she could picture him as an aging love child, trying desperately to keep his bed filled with young twenty somethings to make him feel younger.  _Late forties to early fifties by his word choice, greying and looking to keep himself young at heart by flirting with anything in a skirt._ It wasn’t the prettiest picture she could paint, but something had her praying she was wrong. 

“Ok Hook, how can I help you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that, love?

_Love?  Who the hell talks like him anyways?_

“You’re right, you probably should be asking me that.  Right now, I’m not exactly sure what you could help me with, but if you’re the best that Pan has to offer who am I to – “

“Oh, I’m definitely the _best_ there is.”

Emma grimaced.  Innuendo, flirtation and machismo, oh brother!  He certainly was making a great first impression. 

“There’s a café off the Thames, they make the best coffee I’ve found.  Why don’t you meet me there, in about two hours?  We can talk about whatever kind of help you’ll be best suited to provide then,” distract, deflect, but with efficiency was her motto.  She’d get down to business faster than she’d planned with Hook already making contact.  Gold was indeed a wanted man, so she couldn’t begrudge him his enthusiasm at the thought of the task ahead. 

“Excellent, I know the place.  I’ll meet you there, Swan.”

As the call disconnected, Emma realized she had never given him her name.  He’d done his homework on her, now it was time she did the same.  She swept her laptop out of her bag and connected herself through the wifi, using as many questionable applications to cover her tracks in to the deep web to learn about Killian Jones aka Hook. 

When they came around to tell her to stow her belongings and prepare for landing, Emma had learned quite a bit about the Neverland’s top operative but she still didn’t have a face to go with the name.  It didn’t matter – In an hour, she was going to find out. 

 

* * *

_This just in from our European bureau, Shadowed Dagger has sent word of a possible attack in France, demanding the immediate release of one Zelena de Lautour.  The English Prime Minister will be addressing the media shortly.  We’ll bring you the press conference live when it begins._

 

* * *

 

 

She makes it to the café, with a detour by the safe house and the weapons locker to replenish her supplies and make sure she’s properly protected, with barely a moment to spare before the two hour window she’d given him was up.  It’s quiet, near closing, but Emma isn’t the only patron on the patio this evening.  She sips her hot chocolate (with whipped cream and sprinkled with a dash of cinnamon) and surveys the landscape, turning the book she’d brought over in her hands.  The Thames is beautiful in the soft glow of the early evening, and the view from the patio is one she always enjoys when she’s in town.  Besides, they make a passable coffee for her western palate and that’s always needed when she’s running on empty. 

There’s a man sitting at the table at two o’clock, and he’s trying very hard not to look at her.  She can feel his eyes on her, whenever she turns to survey the water, and she knows he’s doing much like she is.  He isn’t the balding, late forty-ish man with a pronounced pudge she’d pictured on the phone, but she’s been wrong before.  He’s handsome, a rakish man almost brooding in to his coffee and trying a little too hard to study something on the screen of his smartphone.  If this was her help, she needed to get his attention.  Emma Swan didn’t do distress, but she did damsel very well _thank you very much_ , and so she batted her eyes at him and gave him a coy smile over the rim of her mug.  She’d caught his eye and saw him smile and push up from his table.

_Gotcha!_

“Is this seat taken?” 

She couldn’t be sure if it was the same voice she’d heard on the phone due to the static, and it was accented and she was in London… 

“No, not at all,” Emma demurred, smiling at her gentleman caller.  Dark hair, goatee, plunging neckline… and those eyes, as blue as the sea.  He was a sight to behold, so maybe this evening wouldn’t be a total loss. 

“American?”

“Yes, but please don’t hold that against me!  I wasn’t part of the tea party, I swear,” Emma chuckled.  She could play flirtatious herself if she needed to.  When the nights were long and her bed was cold, she knew what to say to convince someone to stay, if only for a night. 

He smiled and pushed a hand through the mass of dark hair atop his head when a few strands flopped in to his eyes, laughing at her not-terribly-funny historical quip.  She found herself drawn to his eyes and the way little crow’s feet crinkled at their edges when he laughed.   Emma likened them to the waters in the Caribbean, that soft enticing blue. 

“And what brings you to jolly old England?”

“Let’s just say, I’m searching for something, but I don’t think I’ve found it yet.”

It couldn’t be him.  It just couldn’t – her instincts usually weren’t wrong, but this was something, and it was distracting her.  If she was seated at the table with Killian Jones, better known as Hook, this was going to be a serious problem.  Muscular, scruff, those eyes…  Serious problem.

“Ahh, _Peter Pan_ – a classic!  Have you been to Kensington Gardens?  It’s truly a sight to behold!”

_Nope, this can’t be the guy.  Time to get out of here.  What a waste of an evening!_

“Yes, yes I have.  I’m sorry,” she glanced off to the back of the building before returning her gaze to her companion, “I think I see my friend.  Excuse me.”

Emma rose, leaving her companion in quickly stunned silence.  He was probably trying to figure out where the conversation had gone wrong, but Emma didn’t give him the chance to stop her.  She moved out of the café and around the corner as quickly as possible to avoid being left in his line of sight.  She’d made it a few feet down the alleyway when she felt sure she’d avoided any unnecessary entanglements with the stranger in the café when an arm reached out and grabbed her from the darkened doorway of a local pub.

Thanking her lucky stars for all the defensive training she’d had, Emma grabbed the offending appendage and had her attacker on his knees within seconds, the arm held tightly behind his back.  The dim light from the streetlamps gave her her first view of a dark mop of hair and a gentleman in a dark shirt and pants.  It was her café stranger. 

“What the hell are you doing following me?”

“Please, you forgot your book – I only wanted to return it to you!”

His words had her spidey senses tingling.  She could always tell when someone was lying – she liked to call it her superpower.  He wasn’t just a stranger she’d met – they had been meant to meet, she could feel it.  He was trying to get closer to her but she couldn’t determine for what purpose. 

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” she whispered leaning in to his ear to speak, “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

“So much for fortune favouring the brave,” he muttered and she unsheathed the dagger she’d kept at her hip, holding it to his throat.

“I think it’s time you told me exactly who you are.”

It wasn’t the first time Emma had thought that Saviours wear red leather jackets to cover up the blood and spoils of war…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is there a powder to erase this? is it dissolvable and tasteless? you can't imagine how I hate this - [Graceless](https://youtu.be/Jpz_gUyImhw) \- The National


	3. I never meant you any harm, but your tears feel warm as they fall on my forearms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't as long - real life has been kicking my ass lately due to my moving hell. But there will be an update next weekend as well, it may be short too - but it will be there. Thank you for everyone who is continuing to read this little thing - even when the progress is slow, I love you for it!

* * *

He could feel the metal press a little deeper against his throat.  She wasn’t aiming to take his head off, _yet_ , but she was probably getting close to it.  He’d seen her in the café sipping the hot cocoa and he’d just known that this was the Saviour.  He struggled to take a deeper breath without puncturing the skin on his throat.  There was one thing he could be completely sure of, Emma Swan could more than handle herself in any situation. 

“I was hoping it would be you,” it was breathy and all he could manage under the circumstances, but more with a dagger shoved against his throat was probably ill advised.  When he felt it pull away and the release of his arm, he fell forward onto the pavement catching himself on his forearms. 

“How the hell did you not know who I was?  I brought the book purposefully to explain that to you.  You know, _covertly_ , without words but we never really got to that, did we?  What the hell kind of agent are you?” 

The words were huffed out with and exasperated sigh.  He glanced at her over his shoulder, she was a sight to behold in her anger. 

“I saw the book, Swan, I even mentioned it.  I thought that would be enough,” he huffed as he pulled himself to his feet.  He scratched behind his ear, trying desperately not to focus on her downturned lips that were the most delicious shade of red. 

“You couldn’t have done that a little more, I don’t know, subtle like?” 

She grimaced as she placed her hands on her hips, the greatly exasperated Saviour was a sight to behold.  Golden waves flowed down to her lower back, just skimming the hem of her jacket which was as delicious a shade of red as the colour on her lips.  If he said it was the first time since he’d seen her in the café that he’d wondered what it would be like to kiss it off her lips, he’d be lying.  He always did look so good in red…

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, that was very subtle,” he moved his hand to the buckle of his belt, rocking a little on his feet.  He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d been rewarded with her eyes dropping to his hands new position and a flustered hand drug through her hair.  There was something between them, her body language was speaking volumes for the shared attraction. 

“Right.”

She’d rolled her eyes at that, and he couldn’t help but smile. 

 

“I’m quite skilled at subtlety and all things of a _stealthy_ and _covert_ nature, lass,” his voice was dripping with innuendo and flirtation.  _Yes, this is definitely the man I spoke to on the phone._  

Hook was all swagger and flirtation.  He was good looking, he knew it, and yet there was something about him that was almost humble.  A little twitch, something nervous and self-conscious about the way he scratched behind his ear. 

“I thought maybe we could get a head start on this, you know, determine the lay of the land so to speak.”

He was leaning his hips towards her, one hand on that belt buckle, while the other scratched at a spot behind his right ear.  He was all tight dark wash jeans and a collared shirt with a deeply plunging neckline under his dark jacket.  It wasn’t leather, she couldn’t help thinking that he would have suited leather better, but that silver belt buckle was distracting her attention.  It was shiny and his thumb tucked behind it tilted it into the glow of the streetlight causing her no end of distraction.  _What was it about shiny things?_

“I don’t think the middle of the street is where we should be doing this,” Emma sighed and glanced over her shoulder.  She wasn’t sure that they were alone.  Gold had people everywhere, of that she was sure otherwise how would they have found her back in…

“I’m sure we shouldn’t.  My place or yours, love?”

_Dear heavens how do I answer that!_

“Ummm, I don’t think there’s any good answer to that question… But I’m sure I can easily find a room at the Hilton that should be perfectly safe in comparison to, I don’t know, the middle of the freaking street!”

_God, he was frustrating.  If he wasn’t so damned attractive this would work a lot better…_

“That sounds charming,” he’d moved back, his hand raking through his dark hair, the other moving to scratch behind his ear again, “I’m sure it would be a much more advantageous location.  Shall we?”

He proffered his arm like a true gentleman, with less flirtation and more timidity than she would have thought. It made it easy for her to slip her arm in the crook of his.  They played the part well, moving in sync, laughing in turn at the random jokes they were throwing to each other at a whisper.  She even felt comfortable enough to lean her head on to his shoulder as they walked.  They found their way to her rental car and he opened the passenger door for her, again, like a gentleman.  He crossed the front and slipped in to the driver’s seat.  He turned to her and smiled, something soft and honest, holding out his hand. 

“I’m not holding your hand as you drive, sunshine,” Emma laughed with a big bright smile.

“I need the keys, lass,” he laughed as well but it made her feel silly. 

_Walls up, Swan._

She pulled the keys to the BMW from her jacket pocket and slid them into his hand, the smile never leaving her face.  This was going to be a complete distraction, she could feel it.  Unless she was sure that her barricades were sturdy about her heart, she could find herself falling for this man and she couldn’t take that risk.  There was something so genuine about him, something that was buried just beneath the surface that she could almost see in those stormy blue eyes. 

“This isn’t the way to the Hilton, Hook.”

“No, it’s not… but it is the way to a place where we can talk safely and stock up on some essentials.  While you’ve been in the air, there’s been several things happening and I don’t know how up you may be on…”

“I follow the major networks and some of the not so major networks, Hook.”

“Ok, so you’ve heard that the Shadowed Dagger has-“

“The Shadowed Dagger!”

“So you haven’t heard,” he muttered but she caught it. 

No, no she had not heard.  She raked a hand through her hair rougher than she normally would.  This was bad – very, _very_ bad.

“Ok, Jones, start from the beginning.  Tell me everything you know about what the Shadowed Dagger has done.”

She noted the grimace on his face as a bad sign.  Every covert agency had had dealings with the Shadowed Dagger, but none had any that could possibly compare to Emma’s experience.  Could she share that?  Maybe not all of that story, but at least the part of it that mattered she would share.   Provided that Hook ever spit out this story. 

“There was an explosion this morning – the Channel Ferry – and of course they claimed responsibility for it.  My sources say their claim is valid, obviously there were quite a few people that wanted this stunt to be theirs, but –“

“But it’s something up their alley.  What did they ask for?”

“Prisoner release or more people will die.  Somewhere in France this time I believe, where our mark is running around free as we speak.”

It was bold for them to be asking for someone, but even bolder to be threatening where Gold was currently hiding out.  That could only mean one thing – everything she’d suspected about them was true.

“Who?”

“Really not someone I would consider bombing for but – “

“WHO?”

“Zelena de Lautour, although why I couldn’t begin to imagine –“

“I can,” Emma couldn’t help but sigh. 

That they were asking for Zelena was bad news – the woman was psychotic, probably worse than Gold – at least she was more upfront about her wickedness than Gold was.  He claimed a tortured soul that was “darker than anyone could imagine” where she walked around saying “Oops!” like a spoiled teenager purposefully trying to cause trouble. 

“And why would that be, Swan?”

“They’re not going to attack anywhere near where our mark is hiding.  Why would they, he’s their boss – but the reason they want the psycho-bitch is exactly what it seems.  They’re getting the band back together.”

“ _He’s_ in charge?  Bloody hell, are you telling me that –“

“That he’s responsible for the deaths of more good people than any criminal or terrorist organization on the planet?  Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you and I’m also telling you that Zelena de Lautour is his right hand woman.  Most of the time, at least,” Emma couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for him.  He looked utterly shocked that this could be the case, like someone had kicked his puppy.

“I’ve been searching,” he took a deep breath, sucking in the air in an effort to calm himself as he turned the corner onto a small laneway, “I’ve been searching for five years for whomever was responsible for – and you’re telling me that it was him or _her_ who was responsible for the hell that my life has become?  That it was that simple?  That he was the reason that the love of my life _died_ and for what?  What possible motive could he have had?”

Correction – someone else did have as personal a reason as she did for wanting Gold dead.  It was a heady thing to contemplate.  Nine years ago, two days after her son had been born, the day that Neal had told her just who his father was – they day they had both been taken from her in the cruelest of ways.  She’d gone to her doctor’s appointment – leaving the baby with Neal.

_“I love you,” she kissed the downy top of his head as he was cuddled in his father’s arms and then leaned in to kiss his father, “And I love you, and I will be back as quickly as I can.”_

_“Don’t worry, Ems, I’ve got this.”_

_She hadn’t wanted to leave, but there was a rash of patients in the building with chicken pox and the doctor had phoned and told her not to bring the baby.  Neal still had a couple of days off, so he’d begrudgingly agreed to sit with their son.  It would only be an hour or so, then she could cocoon herself back in to their home._

_She’d been gone for an hour – a haphazard text from Neal that she should pick up dinner on the way back delayed her even longer and when she’d turned the corner on to their street and seen the apartment building engulfed in flames she’d been desperate to find them – to know that her family was safe.  They hadn’t been safe, not by a long shot.  There had been no warning – an explosion on the thirteenth floor.  They’d found them inside – her infant son and her boyfriend, burned to char.  She couldn’t even identify them – they were unrecognizable.  Dental records had identified Neal – but she hadn’t needed any testing to know it was their son._

_He’d told her about his father – Robert Gold, CEO of Goldbrokers and one of the dirtiest men he knew.  He had run away, changed his name, escaping the hell that had been home during his rise to power.  He knew his father knew about him – knew that his father had sought him out when his mother had vanished without a trace.  He was afraid._

_It was arson – or a bomb – she couldn’t remember what the Fire Marshal had said.  She remembered the words foul play from the Detective who had spoken to her – Graham Humbert, she would later come to know.  It was the moment that she had given her all to the police force.  The moment she had known that if there would be no justice for her son that she would bring others to justice.  It was how she met Mary Margaret… and how she became a part of what would be the best career she could imagine – so that she could find the proof that he had taken her lover and her son from her._

_They hadn’t had the perfect life, they probably wouldn’t have made it much longer, but she knew that there was nothing she wouldn’t do for her son.  The memory of her son.  Bring honour to the life he should have had.  Avenge his death the only way she could._

“Are you alright, Swan?”

She could feel his hand on her arm as she tried to shake herself free of the nightmare she’d been living with.  It was normally buried deep, so far from the surface that she didn’t dwell on it.  It found her at night.  That and the message she’d never be able to erase.  The only one she couldn’t actually listen to.  A single tear streamed down her cheek unbidden.

“I’ll be alright, once that villains been brought to justice.”

They’d come to a stop in front of a quaint little cottage.  She had no idea where they were, but she knew it was time to get to work. 

 

* * *

 

 

 _There are reports of a bombing in Northern France at one of the most secure International Prisons.  Reported missing in the damage of the bombing is Zelena de Lautour.  No word from the Shadowed Dagger but it is assumed that they helped in the escape of Ms. de Lautour.  Ms. de Lautour was the criminal mastermind behind the abduction of the Crown Prince of Monaco and rumoured to be the head of the Shadowed Dagger, though nothing definitive is known about the organizations leadership._   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never meant you any harm, but your tears feel warm as they fall on my forearms - [I Gave You All](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00dcKqc5H-A) \- Mumford & Sons


	4. and the blind man sleeps in the doorway his home, if only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so very short update - because I wanted to get you something even though i moved this weekend and my body is absolutely aching. My guesstimate of chapters is getting longer now, but I'm still working on this so yeah... GO ME! 
> 
> Look for a longer update this week. I wanted some action here, but they needed a heart to heart I think to get him working in the right direction.

 

* * *

 

 

She’d been silent for the remainder of the drive to the cottage.  It wasn’t exactly a registered safe house with Neverland, but it also _was_ one of the safest locations he knew.  No one, save for himself and Smee, knew that it existed.  It was tucked away and just slightly out of the city. 

She’d been quiet so long, he’d actually begun to worry.  The last sound she had made was the sharp intake of breath after he had gone off the rails over the knowledge that Robert Gold was the one in control of the Shadowed Dagger, and the man who was ultimately responsible for the death of his love Milah.   Silent as the grave, eyes glazed and unfocused straight out at the road ahead.  Emma Swan had given him great cause for alarm.  He wondered how much of the drive she had registered.  He hadn’t attempted any more conversation, and he hadn’t pressed as to what had her so agitated, she would share if she felt the urge.  He also wondered just how personal this operation was for her, because he definitely wasn’t the only one to lose a loved one to Gold’s machinations. 

When they’d come to a stop, Killian was sure there was something holding her focus in her mind.  He knew she could be jet lagged for the hop across the pond, but honestly the Saviour was the foremost recovery specialist in the game.  She had to be used to flying across the world at a moment’s notice.  _It isn’t jet lag…_

“Emma?”

No answer from the blonde beside him.  _Maybe something a little more solid, a foundation in this world will bring her back._   Killian placed his hand on her forearm and spoke again. 

“Are you alright, Swan?”

Killian’s eyes hung steady on her as he watched her shake her head a little bit, blink two or three times as though she had just awoke from slumber, and then nod her head affirmative.  She turned to face him and then, a single tear tumbling down her cheek.

“I’ll be alright, once that villains been brought to justice,” her voice was calm and determined, Killian watched as she turned her attention out the window to the cottage.  Emma was swiping at the errant tear with the back of her hand.  He’d imagined wiping it away, taking whatever portion of the pain he could from her – or at least helping to ease the pain by replacing it with the joyful memory of Gold’s downfall would have to be enough. 

“Where – Where are we?”

“Ahhh, this is something of a safe house.  Not a _Neverland_ safe house, per se, but a safe house nonetheless,” he was scratching behind his ear again, but Emma’s eyes were staring up the pathway at the cottage and so he felt rather confident in showing his insecurity.  It wasn’t often that he felt vulnerable, but this was a moment where he wasn’t quite sure if he was truly prepared for all that was about to happen. 

“So, instead of _neutral_ ground, you’ve brought me to your shag pad?”

“No! No, that’s not it at all.  Yes, this is a safe house and yes, there is a reason that I brought you here, love, but believe me – _that_ was not the reason,” Killian raked a hand through his hair, before bringing it to rest on the steering wheel of the BMW, “This is a hideout of sorts – one that Neverland has no idea exists – and only one other person other than myself knows the location of – well, aside from yourself of course, but you were rather distracted on the drive and…”

“Are you holding me for ransom, Hook?”

“No, no absolutely not!”

“It was a joke, hot shot.”

Killian could see that the corners of her lips were turned upwards, could see that she was goading him, trying to bring a little levity to the situation.  He shot her an impish smile and ducked his head so as to avert his gaze.  This was going to be a problem – he’d never worked with anyone he had been this attracted to.  Sure, the women in the espionage industry were generally of the more beautiful and exotic variety – but Killian had never felt the kind of connection he was feeling with her. 

“Sorry, lass, I hadn’t really thought this through.  The only thing I was sure of was that I wanted to be in a place where I had a little control over whomever and whatever was eavesdropping on our conversation.  I thought we could use that at least after you relayed your little tidbit about our target.”

She frowned and pulled herself up from the seat to better retrieve an object from her pocket.  It looked like an ordinary tube of lip stick.  Emma pulled off the lid and as she turned the colour clockwise so that the red was poking out of the base he could hear the crackling static of a bug finder.  She frowned as she listened, and then shook her head. 

“You had me worried there for a second – the car is clean.  Who would be listening in?  And better yet, why?”

“I – there’s been an incident.  My phone, it was bugged, so was my office though I haven’t a clue when that happened nor who is responsible.  My associate, one of my longest and most loyal associates is the head of Neverland’s tech department – he is the other person who knows the location of this cottage and he should be here soon – Smee, he was looking in to this for me.  He should have something more to tell me and if it ties in to the case, well, all the better.”

“You think it would?  Why would the Shadowed Dagger want to bug you?”

“Because I’ve been hunting their boss with reckless abandon for the last five years, even though I didn’t know he was their boss?”

“It’s not your fault, Killian – he’s slimy on his own, but no one would have assumed he ran an International Terror Organization.”

Emma had placed a hand on his arm in reassurance.  He could almost feel the heat of her skin bubbling through the sleeve of his pea coat.  He wasn’t sure that he deserved her kindness, he certainly hadn’t deserved her help in Budapest – he’d caused her and her team more trouble than he was worth he was sure.  He pulled his gaze from her hand, raising his eyes to meet her gaze.  It was soft, gentle, almost caring but she didn’t yet know a thing about him.  All she could possibly know was that he was the reason that Budapest had gone to Hell. 

“I’ve been relentless in my pursuit, although I should have known that he was behind it – when that child soldier in South Africa said their boss was “Mister Gold” I was convinced… But then, the Shadowed Dagger…” he sucked in a breath.  It was hard to talk about this, almost too painful to even remember, but she had to understand. 

“The Shadowed Dagger came on the radar.  They were the worst thing that we had ever seen – and you know what we’ve seen because you’ve lived the worst of it too, lass.  All the evils of the world flying under one corrupt banner.  They took all honour from any sort of rebellious acts, they poisoned everything they touched.  And when I was getting particularly close there was the string of car bombings, top leveled agents from agencies around the world taken out in one fell swoop.  Only, I didn’t take the car that day, and instead my Milah – well, she paid the ultimate price.  I’ve been so focused on my revenge, so dedicated, that I always assumed it was the Shadowed Dagger but every lead that I’ve dug up falls back to the Robert Gold,” he ducked his head again, unable to keep her gaze.  Empathy radiated off her in waves, it was one of the most comforting things he had ever felt. 

“You couldn’t have known, Killian.  It was a – friend – that pieced it together for me.  I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise.”

“I should have known, only a fool would have continued ignoring the evidence as I,” he raked his free hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his neck. 

The car was silent, the air heavy and thick with emotion.  Killian could feel her thumb rubbing softly on his forearm.  He could hear every breath, every beat of his heart as it seemed to hammer in his chest under the ministrations of Emma’s thumb. 

“How could I have been so foolish?” The words came out in a hushed, incredulous whisper.  He’d been so single minded in his pursuit of vengeance that he had missed the signs that were flashing right before his eyes. 

“You were blinded by your pain.  It consumes you, and clouds your judgement until it’s all you know and all you can see.  But now you have a choice,” her voice was soft and steady, inspiring him to glance at her again. 

“And what would that be?”

“You can either stay here, trapped inside the pain searching for revenge that won’t solve anything but to quell some of the grief for a moment or you can be a part of something.  You can help me end this – bring Gold to justice and to be accountable for his crimes.  You can ensure that he and the Shadowed Dagger are put out of business forever.  Do you want to be a part of something bigger, something more?”

It shocked the hell out of him when he straightened up in the driver’s seat, chest puffed with pride and answered the only way he thought he could. 

“Aye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the blind man sleeps in the doorway his home, if only I had an enemy bigger than my apathy I could have won - [ I Gave You All ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00dcKqc5H-A)\- Mumford & Sons


	5. on the surface everything is fine, but disaster struck behind these well known lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I apologize oh so much for the delay in posting this! I moved, I got my fangirl on at the local con, AND I sent my little one back to school this week. Life got mucho mucho in the way. I hope for another update this weekend, get myself back on my schedule of weekly updates. They may occasionally be biweekly - just saying, sometimes life gets in the way. Without further ado, on with the show...

 

* * *

 

 

Emma pulled her hair back and into a ponytail as she inspected the room Killian had shown her to.  The interior of the cottage was as quaint as the exterior – there were a few too many chintz rose patterned cushions for her personal taste – but it had a comfortable, homey feel.  She could tell why no one would ever take this for a safe house, which made it one of the best potential locations. 

The second she had heard about Zelena de Lautour’s escape, Emma had been on edge.  Killian had brought her to the cottage while she’d been locked in her own personal nightmare of a memory, she honestly had no idea where she was.  Where _they_ were, because honestly after the conversation they’d had in the car, they had begun a team.  They both wanted to bring Gold down – both for very personal reasons, but they desperately wanted to bring him to justice, or rather Emma wanted to bring him to justice…. Because Emma was pretty sure that Killian wanted to gut and fillet him, not bring Gold in to face trial for his crimes.  There wasn’t any good that could come from his death.  There was no recompense that could bring back the lives that had been lost, the hope that had been lost because of Robert Gold. 

Killian was waiting downstairs – he’d told his cohort (or friend, she really wasn’t quite sure what the stout man was) to give her a moment to freshen up before launching into his tirade of technobabble.  Emma wondered just how much Killian knew of technology.  He didn’t seem to be as advanced as other operatives she had met – but then, as Regina had taught her, the best often used the skills of the past rather than the technology of the present.  Emma liked to think she was a good mixture of both the past and the present with just a hint of the future in her movements.  She liked to be one step ahead of the competition, and usually that was a literal and figurative movement.  The man, Smee, hadn’t been keen on the delay so she took a quick glance in the mirror.  The messy ponytail dangled down her back and she grabbed the golden waves and flung them over her shoulder.  This would have to do. 

Emma slid her hand along the railing as she took the stairs lightly.  She was hoping for stealthy silence so that she could determine just what Hook was up to.  They _were_ from rival agencies, after all.  Although, she was fairly certain he was honest and trustworthy, she just couldn’t stand to learn that she was wrong about him and that he wasn’t the man she felt he was.  If he wasn’t… Well, she’d rather not think about that – better to be highly cautious until she had some idea of where his thoughts were. 

“I really wish you would have told me you were bringing someone here.  Now how do we know this place is safe?”

“Really, Mr. Smee, you feel that the Saviour is a liability to our safety?  I think we’re probably the safest we’ve ever been with her around.”

“If Pan gets wind of this place, of any of the work I’ve been doing…”

“He won’t.  Malcolm Pan thinks only of himself – after so many years, I’ve finally figured out how to play his perverse game without getting caught.”

“But you almost did – if you’d been more careful about –“

“Smee, I would guard my words carefully here.”

“Aye, sir, but –“

“When Ms. Swan joins us, we will begin and you can tell me all about it.  She should know about any potential dangers that may come her way.”

Emma chose this moment to make herself known the two gentlemen in the kitchen.  She slinked around the corner and rested her hip against the doorframe in a very nonchalant demeanor. 

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Emma said lightly, pushing away from the doorframe with her hip as they turned shocked faces to her.  She could tell by the startled look on the stout man – Smee’s – face that he was trying to determine just how much of the conversation she had overheard.  Killian’s expression was something akin to pride.  He was _proud_ of her!  She knew from standing there that he was impressed, and there was something about that thought that had her preening under his gaze. 

“Mr. Smee here was about to explain what he’s uncovered about my mobile situation, weren’t you Mr. Smee?”

Killian had the air of authority, he truly was the captain in this partnership.  Smee looked slightly flustered at being put on the spot before Emma, but he managed to recover with a little mustered bravado of his own and only a few sputtering moments.

“Well, you see, it uh –“

“Out with it, Smee!”

“Yes sir, you see the bug that was place in your phone was planted from inside,” Smee paused awkwardly, and Emma wondered if it was only for the dramatic effect, “This is a highly advanced bug and the software details inside it indicate that it was coded on Neverland tech.  Not sure who would have had the capabilities to do that outside my team, and frankly sir, I don’t want to think that I have a mole in my team.”

“But it is possible, isn’t it?  That you could have a mole on your team?”  Emma couldn’t stop herself from interjecting – she could believe anything, hell she got paid to believe the worst in all kinds of situations. 

“Well,” Smee gave his head a flustered shake, then prattled on, “I suppose it is possible, but there isn’t anyone with enough skill to do what – what was done to the phone except for me.  Literally.  Not a single person, and I wouldn’t do something like that to – to – to – “

“I get the picture,” Emma huffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Smee, what about Jack?  The young lad who was helping you today?”  Killian put the man on his guard and pulled him from his stammering.  

“NO!  Absolutely not!” Smee was on his feet at this notion, his body defensive and pacing at the accusation.  “It wouldn’t and _couldn’t_ be Jack – he wasn’t even employed at Neverland when the software was last updated.  It wouldn’t be Jack, if he had been there – he wouldn’t, sir he’s my sister’s boy!”

Emma turned her attention back to the conversation at the mention of a familial connection.  That could blur the lines, would always blur the lines, because you would never imagine that your family would betray you.  She caught the kind gesture between the two men, Killian’s hand on the man’s arm in reassurance.  This wasn’t just a working friendship.  These men went back longer. 

“Was there anyone who left the company around that time?  Anyone who might have had a beef with Hook?”

“No, no one.  No one’s left in the last six years that wasn’t an operative killed on a field mission and that software was planted about four years ago!”

Emma raised her eyes to Killian’s – he was looking at her as well, mouth agape.  Just how long had he been out of things?

 

_Four years.  Four bloody years!_

He’d been walking around with a bug in his phone for the last four years – FOUR YEARS!  This was what he got for being so blinded by his emotions.  Betrayal.  It was an absolute betrayal.  He raked a hand through his hair and turned his back to them.  He didn’t want anyone to see this, to see this… _Weakness_. 

“Well, what about those operatives – is there anyone who’s been through the company with the skill to do this?”  Emma’s voice was firm, snapping him out of the sea of self-pity he was drowning in.

“I – maybe, maybe one or two but they’re all dead – all of them!”

“You’re sure about that?”

That caught him off guard – Emma’s question snapped him back to the conversation both physically and mentally.

“Aye, love, I’m sure even if Smee is not – I was there when the majority of those operatives died.  Actually, so were you…”

He hadn’t meant for the words to be so despondent and disheartening.  He was sure she felt as terrible about the events in Budapest as he did.  But it was his fault things went as poorly as they had.  He could never make it up to those people, the agents who had lost their lives, nor to their families that were left behind to pick up the pieces.   Gods, the ruin that had been left in his wake!

“Budapest.”

“Aye.”

His feet pushed him to the door, pushed him towards the beauty that lay outside the cottage.  There was nothing beautiful inside, nothing beautiful when he was in the picture.  There was only dark. 

“Killian, Budapest was not your fault.”

His brow pressed against the cool glass door, hoping the glass would cool the heat of his disgrace.  How could he have fallen farther from grace than this?  How could he have been so blind? 

“What’s the likelihood that either of those operatives was set up in Budapest?”

“Sir,” Smee’s voice was shaky, “What exactly are you getting at?”

“I think what Hook is getting at, is that one or potentially _both_ of these operatives may have bugged his phone and then been taken out as part of the mission,” Emma’s voice, calm yet authoritative, and let him know that she was on the same track. 

“You did say that dark things were afoot when we spoke earlier, Smee.”

“And what’s darker than a planned assassination?” Emma chimed in.  They truly were on the same page with this. 

“Sir, are you suggesting…”

“That Neverland has been infiltrated?  Aye, Smee I think that I am.”

“So we have a mole?”

Smee’s mouth flapped rather like a fish out of water at the notion.  A mole in the company – there was a _mole_ in the company and every small ounce of safety that there had been for the man had evaporated in that small moment.  Killian knew just how he felt. 

“Does that surprise you, Mr. Smee?”

“No… No, sir, it does not.  But why would they target you?”

“I think,” Emma’s voice broke through their conversation, “Hook here was close to proving Robert Gold guilty, unbeknownst to him.  He was close to something and someone wanted to shut him up.  I’m thinking that since this hasn’t really gone any further than this that possibly the mole may have been taken out in Budapest too.”

“You think that this was just left in his phone?  That they weren’t picking up the file transfers?  How could you know that?” Smee spat at her. Killian had never seen the man so animated with someone who wasn’t himself, or Liam as in years past.  He wasn’t one to simply take on another, unless he felt that person a threat to his Captain, and Killian would always be that Captain. 

“Come now, Smee, Ms. Swan may be on to something here, unless you can prove otherwise…”

“It was only a suggestion, this is a roundtable and we _are_ spitballing ideas.  If you can’t deal with that, maybe,” her voice had turned threatening and she was moving in closer to Smee to increase the severity of her warning, “You need a little attitude adjustment.  I know a bank of cells that would be perfect for that kind of thing.”

Smee was truly sputtering now, but Killian didn’t seem to notice as he was completely taken with the power in this woman.  Emma Swan was the perfect combination of beauty and strength, she seemed to be aflame.  A woman of such power, with such a passion for justice and the truth.  He was awed to be in her presence.  If only he had known in Budapest just what this Saviour was like he could have avoided waiting so long to work with her again.  It might have set him on a different path so much sooner.  Perhaps he could find his way after all.

 

* * *

 

 

_Since the escape of Zelena de Lautour, all has been quiet on the international terrorism scene.  With de Lautour’s freedom, there have been no further threats of bombings, no further senseless acts of violence to speak of.  Governments of the world are united in their fear under the threat of another attack.  What could possibly have been their motive?  What is it that they’re planning?  When there’s more to report, we’ll deliver you the latest.  In other news,_ Toy Story 4 _has broken all the box office records on its opening weekend!_

 

* * *

He hadn’t checked in for weeks.  He knew that he probably should check in now, but he didn’t have anything to say.  He had nothing to communicate that the home office would want to hear. 

The signal was dead on the rogue’s phone.  It hadn’t been transmitting for the past two days.  It didn’t help that that fool Jack hadn’t been able to stop that bumbling imbecile from removing the bug from the phone and severing the software link.   The home office hadn’t been happy about that one either. 

He’s lost the girl too.  Hadn’t been able to switch his disguises fast enough to catch the same flight, but he had been on the one departing right after.  So he was about an hour behind her, so what?  What could the Saviour do when there wasn’t anyone that needed saving?  She wasn’t that good of an operative if she couldn’t follow obvious clues. 

His iPhone chirped with the incoming text.    

_Report?_

How could he possibly report back to being so far out of the game?  He ran a hand through his wheat blonde hair, it fell in waves around his chin, a little long for most, but something that helped him keep his youthful hooligan charm.  He knew very little of what he could report.  He didn’t know just how savvy the boss was on the technology side, for all he knew he didn’t actually check in to the filtered feed that came from the phone anyways – maybe the only interesting part was the GPS tracking. 

He tapped out a quick reply, something small that would hopefully abate the home office. 

_London – they’ve gone to ground.  I’m watching the safe houses.  They have no idea what they’re up against yet._

Felix slid the phone back into his pocket and resumed his walk down the pathway, twilight had fallen and the moon was barely visible through the tree limbs above.  He wandered some more, keeping an eye on the location of the safe house that he’d gotten from Jack.  That little geek wasn’t completely useless after all.  The iPhone chirped again and he slipped it form his pocket to read what the home office had to say. 

_Good.  He’s going after the boy.  The game is about to change._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the surface everything is fine, but disaster struck behind these well known lines - [Tripolar](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Na3d4exPAKY) \- MS MR


	6. what happened to the soul, that you used, to be?  I'm searching for something that I can't reach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo! So this is going to be a ride! You get an update this week, a much longer one than I had originally anticipated because I can't promise to update next weekend. I will try to post if even a small update, but at worst this could be a biweekly update this time. Technically you're getting two updates in one week because Tuesday... Yeah, Chapter 5 was TUESDAY! I just had something that was ready to go so you definitely get it today. 
> 
> To all of you who are reading this, THANK YOU! It makes my heart happy when you leave kudos or you comment, on this or any of my fics. It really, REALLY does! So this is for all of you who keep reading and those of you who found this today because of one of my other stories or a rec on tumblr, or through the bookmarks of one of your friends here on AO3. Thank you, from the bottom of my completely shipper trash heart, thank you!
> 
> This is all happening within a tight time frame here, a little jumpy POV time and reactionary but still, tight time frame. Keep that in mind...

* * *

 

Smee’s exuberance for technology was astounding!  The man had produced more gadgets and gizmos than Killian could fathom the possibility of.  He, being the embodiment of old world ways, was loathe to admit that they may be needed the way the new spy game was being played, and deferred to Emma who seemed to be much more in tune with the new age accoutrements of the trade.  Once she had made several selections (and Smee had taught him the basics of their operation), they shared a simple dinner – spaghetti bolognaise – and retired for the evening. 

But Killian couldn’t sleep…

He had tossed and turned and tossed some more, but to no avail.  Every time he closed his eyes he could see her face.  Her smile as she waved to him from the window.  The way she pursed her lips and blew him kisses when he would drop her off at the bakery for another day’s work.  Her eyes sparkling as she laughed with him about the simplest of moments.  It was what would follow in his dreams that haunted him, and that was what had been keeping him awake.    

_“My darling, I have to go,” he kissed her again, her lips soft and supple from their earlier activities.  He trailed his hand down her cheek, capturing a curly tendril between his thumb and forefinger and watching it bounce as it snapped from his grasp._

_“Killian, what’s a quiet day?  The office can’t need you that badly!”_

_Milah’s smile was infectious and she pulled his hand in to her chest tugging gently.  She was doing everything in her power to keep him with her, to keep him from leaving for another ‘day at the office’ as she liked to call it.  She was the one person in his life who knew what he was, what he did for a living.  Being Malcolm’s cousin she had to know._

_“My darling, it will be but a few hours.  Just a quick sortie and then I will be back here in your arms and all will be right with the world!”_

But all wasn’t right with the world.  He’d gone for the car – he’d meant to drive himself, but Malcolm had been outside waiting.  He’d been standing there by his Land Rover and looking at his watch with a smirk and then he’d been ushered in to the car. 

She’d forgotten to get milk, that’s what the note had said in the kitchen.  She needed the milk to make the cookies she was planning to bake for dessert and she needed the milk so she was going to pop round to the store.  In the car – _his_ car.  The police had told him it was a bomb.  There were a string of car bombs recently.  No one was safe from the Shadowed Dagger, least of all Killian Jones and the members of the Neverland crew.  He wasn’t the only one to lose someone to the bombings, but many had been by accident – his was on purpose. 

_If I had taken the car…_

If he had taken the car he’d taken the car he’d be dead right now instead of her.  If he had taken the car he wouldn’t be living this hell.  If he had taken the car…

And this was why he couldn’t sleep.  It was all dug up by the sobriety of the situation and the gravity of being able to finally enact his revenge for the death of his Milah.  But he wasn’t sure that revenge was really all that it was cracked up to be now.  He may want a life for a life, but how many others would like to see Robert Gold punished for his misdeeds?  Could he possibly deny others the chance to have that same feeling?  That same vindication?

He raked a hand through his hair and considered trying to catch a couple of hours shut eye.  He considered it, a least until he heard the knock at his bedroom door. 

 

* * *

 

She couldn’t sleep.  Every time Emma closed her eyes, she felt an uncomfortable stillness, like the calm before the storm and oh what a storm it would be!  She kept the lights off, watching the world outside the windows pass in its nocturnal dance.  There was a lot that you could see in the quiet of the night.  The stars, the moon, the animals that came from their homes to prowl their nightly haunts…

Emma had seen movement in the shrubbery to the left of the cottage.  She’d kept her distance from the window to obscure herself from view of anyone below.  Maybe it was just the paranoia and the sleep deprivation talking, but she could swear that the movement of the trees was not _natural_ , not the normal nocturnal prowling of a cat or a raccoon.  She’d been watching the patch of land that was just a shade too dark to make anything out for hours now, hoping that whomever had taken up point would give themselves away.  

She kept her hands busy, checking and rechecking her arsenal.  She hadn’t been able to sleep which meant that she was still fully dressed, just her jacket lay on the back of the chair where she’d discarded it earlier.  Emma couldn’t place her finger on it, but something about this just wasn’t right. 

She’d been on edge all evening.  She’d thought that her restlessness was a combination of jet lag and the anxiety of having to face her past head on.  She’d spent a lifetime running from the things that had brought her pain.  The abandonment of her birth parents.  All the foster families that took her in only to turn her away.  Neal and her poor, precious baby boy... There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t wonder what he would have become, what kind of life he would have had.  This was why she kept fighting, this was what she was fighting for. 

_“My father is a bad, bad guy Ems.”_

She could hear Neal’s voice whenever she thought of her son.  The warnings that he’d given her.  She hadn’t truly believed it – she thought that maybe he was exaggerating when he said his father wouldn’t accept defeat.  Robert Gold was not a man to be trifled with. 

_“You learn how to bow to him, Ems.  You do what he wants, when he wants it and if you don’t?  If you don’t, well then heaven help you.”_

Emma hadn’t learned much about Neal’s childhood, other than his mother had abandoned their family. One day she’d picked him up from school and made his favourite banana cupcakes with him and the next she was gone.  There was no explanation for the son who adored her.  She was just gone.  It was something she could relate to.  One morning she had a lover and a son, the next she they were gone.  Just gone. 

Shaking her head, Emma tried to clear the fog that had settled in her brain.  Being nostalgic wasn’t going to do anyone any good.  That wasn’t the way to make Gold pay for taking them from her, for taking her baby from her and denying her the life that she’d always dreamed of.  Still _did_ dream of…  She turned her eyes back to the black patch at the back of the yard. 

That’s when she spotted it.  The flicker of light was small, almost imperceptible, but she caught it.  It was the flick of a cigarette lighter – butane blue flame flickering in the soft breeze.  She pushed a little farther forward in her seat, just to the edge of the safe zone in the window’s view for a better look.  Then she caught the angry red flare of inhalation.  They were being watched. 

She pushed herself to move from the room.  It wasn’t safe here.  They had to move.

 

* * *

 

Storybrooke, Maine was a quaint little town.  A town with 5,000 residents.  A town with a single elementary, middle and secondary school that shared a gymnasium and cafeteria slash auditorium hall.  A town where every member of the general population attended town meetings at the town hall.  A town hall that played host to the single judge and the local court room. 

Banners were displayed across town for the annual Harvest Festival and the upcoming Home Coming Parade before the first football game of the regular high school season.  It was the perfect home for the well to do, the local farmer or the head of an international intelligence organization looking to maintain their cover.  Regina Mills wasn’t the lone member of the espionage game living in the sleepy little town.  Actually, she wasn’t the lone member living in her own household but that was beside the point.  Storybrooke was guarded.  Safe.  A great place to raise a family, completely out of the public eye. 

That there were school children of all ages walking to the local school spoke volumes to the safety of the town.  Cars barely moved along Main Street, but that didn’t matter.  Every place worth going in Storybrooke was within walking distance and today the one place worth going was the gymnasium and the school science fair. 

Regina had helped Henry construct his own working volcano.  That when he set it off he called out crazy catch phrases from Doctor Who and cried out that it was the last days of Pompeii she was blaming entirely upon Robin and his love for all things Science Fiction.  And the fact that her husband is British and prone to loving anything from the BBC.  So, regardless that they could easily walk to school together, Regina and Henry had piled in to her Cadillac and were now crawling along Main Street with the ever bubbling Mount Vesuvius in the back seat with a giggling little Roland. 

“Do you know what’s cool, Roland?  I get to make _that_ explode at school – now _that’s_ cool!” 

The road rage that had been simmering in her was no match for Henry’s unbridled enthusiasm.  Regina couldn’t help but smile at his excitement.  Roland erupted into a fit of giggles as they continued behind the super slow Mustang convertible that was just ahead of them and driving much slower than was absolutely necessary.  Regina had chosen this town because everyone knew everyone.  With only five thousand residents it wasn’t that hard to at least recognize everyone… But this car… This car she didn’t recognize and that was _not_ okay. 

“Now boys, exploding volcanos can be fun but they can also teach you something, which is entirely the point.”

The car tapped on its breaks again.  Regina couldn’t stand the slow down speed up game, she wasn’t tailgating so there was no reason to be so ridiculous – this was Storybrooke, not Manhattan during rush hour.  She was glad she didn’t have anywhere that she needed to be this morning – being the boss had definite perks. 

“Hey Mom, are you going to come back for the Science Fair?” Henry asked her, his eyes glued on to the car as well. She glanced at him, but he was studying it – really committing it to memory and she had to wonder why.

“Well, I was going to, but if you’d rather that Roland and I just bake you some cookies for your inevitable victory party, we could do that too…”

The car tapped on its breaks again, pressing on her last nerve. 

“I was hoping… That I could introduce you to the new girl in my class.  Actually, I think that’s her brothers in the car ahead of us.  They’re a little older and drive her everywhere.”

So Henry knew the car, or he _thought_ he knew the car, which was better than what she was thinking, not that she wanted to give voice to what she had been thinking.  She could make out three heads inside the Mustang if she squinted.  The top was up and the plastic film of the rear windscreen wasn’t terribly clear.  She was visibly relaxed at his words. 

“Is this _the_ Wendy?  The one you’ve mentioned at every meal since she set foot into your classroom last month?”

“Yes,” he chuckled a little and she had to fight back a pang of sadness.  He was growing up much too fast for her liking.  Where, oh where, did her little baby go?  He was far too young to start showing an interest in anyone wasn’t he?

The school was just in front of them, another fifteen feet or so ahead of them on the left hand side.  The driver of the Mustang put on his turn signal much too far ahead, but at least she felt reassured.  There was no telling the enemies that she had made in her lifetime that would love to hurt her through her children, so the thought that this was simply a new classmate’s family was a great relief.  The car turned into the parking lot of the school – and Regina paused a little longer letting the few stragglers wander in to the school yard before turning in too. 

She let Henry off first, allowing him to take the bubbling science project with him and kissing him on the cheek for luck.  Regina, ever conscious and over protective of her cubs, took note of the license plate of the Mustang and the two young men who were in the front seat ahead of her making a mental note to investigate them further, find out a little bit more about this Wendy’s family.  Roland, who had kindergarten in the mornings, was more than ready to go and play with his friends for the day and was the next stop on the drop off rounds.  She kissed him on the top of the head, promising to be there at noon hour to pick him up and maybe they could make some of cookies to help Henry celebrate a job well done.  She took a look back at the two young men as she hopped back in to the car. 

There was something that just wasn’t right about them…

 

* * *

 

She hadn’t trusted those two, and it was a good thing.  The cursory search she had made told her that they were no good.  Michael, John and Wendy Darling.  There was nothing _bad_ about Wendy – but there were scores of pages about Michael and John and just what they would do to protect their lovely little sister.  They’d made quite the names for themselves, stealing identities, kidnapping doctors and specialists… Then they’d gone off the grid right around the time Zelena de Lautour decided to try to kidnap the Crown Prince of Monaco. 

_Zelena, I should have known!_

Zelena de Lautour had a lot of good reasons to hate her – but none that even compared to the actual one, the torch that she carried around with her.  Regina was the reason that Zelena had been imprisoned.  Well, more accurately Regina and Robert Gold were the reason that she had been imprisoned. 

She’d founded Fabled Story to be the greatest international espionage company in the world – but she hadn’t always done things the right way, hence her early partnership with Robert Gold.  Robert had provided her with the foot in the door that she’d needed.  He’d been a friend of her mother’s – she’d often wondered if they had been more than friends, but the fact that her mother at least seemed to care for her father had made that thought obsolete.  Robert had funded many of her early exploits and when she’d learned that he was funding guerilla military operations in South Africa through a shadow corporation she’d realized that that wasn’t the way she wanted to be remembered.  Regina wanted her name to be known for something good, not the terrible atrocities that Gold had planned.    She’d planned to take _him_ down, not Zelena.  She’d planned to make him pay, not Zelena.  He had too much information on some of the shadier early dealings in her past to make that possibility a reality.  So she’d used his intel and taken down Zelena with his promise to leave her to her honest work.

She dialed her phone for the first contact she could hope to find still in the reaches of Storybrooke.  Charming. 

“Regina?”

_Not a hello, but then when the boss calls, you tend to answer your phone quickly._  

Once she’d set this into motion she’d take care of the rest.  Gold was the ultimate prize – and her parents were no longer around to be shamed by any of the information that he had.  There was nothing he could do to her now that could ruin what she had built for herself.  That he was the current target of her company’s business and that there were people trying to take her son from her could not be a coincidence. 

“Charming, I need a favour.”

 

* * *

 

Smiling children everywhere.  Well, not all of them were smiling.  Some of the children looked anxious, and so they should be.  This was their Science Fair and there was a special guest judge here today.  They knew that the guest judge was here looking for something special, but they didn’t know that it was a ‘whom’ they were looking for rather than a ‘what’ to win the special prize.

Each desk was set up with a three part Bristol board backing in colourful hues.  Some proclaimed the miracles of water, some the magic properties of vinegar, and some proclaimed the wonder of volcanic eruptions.  Henry Mills had one of these volcanoes, and he was the ‘whom’ that they were after.  Wendy had told them that much.      

Michael looked at John, his brother looked calm and collected, which was good because they needed to pull this off.  They needed the boy.  And the boy likes their sister and she was perfect bait. 

Wendy coughed, much more violently than she had been the rest of the morning and Michael frowned as John rubbed her back comfortingly.  Anyone could hear the phlegmy consistency of her lungs, the tightness of her chest… They needed that medicine and if they could provide the boy, well then the home office would provide the medicine for their sweet little sister.  She wasn’t going to get better without their help now, because of their financial situation they’d left it too long – healthcare in the United States wasn’t anything like it was back home. 

“Over,” the first word that left Wendy’s mouth was breathy, quickly followed by a second and an arm raised slightly to point, “there.”

A volcano set up, the poster board backer calling onlookers to _Experience the WONDERS of Pompeii,_ he didn’t think it was particularly funny but it was something and it was more creative than some of the rest of the displays.  There were five volcanos at all, and if he wasn’t a great fan of science he would have cried when he reached each of these little displays.  He stepped ahead, moving towards the display.  He stopped along the way, several times, to examine other exhibits.  Michael knew he needed to keep up appearances.  He needed the other children to believe that he was a celebrity judge. 

John had moved away from Wendy now, making his way along the other side of the aisle.  They were going to come at him from both sides, he was going to ask him to come and speak to him about his volcano and then he was going to grab him and usher him off the property.  John was going to collect Wendy and they would be out of here, never to return and never to be found.  Michael came to the edge of Henry Mills’ display table and that was when he saw it – the man that was smiling and running down the aisle to Henry at a frantic pace.

“Henry!  Henry!”

The boy turned away from the “celebrity judge” and broke out into a radiant smile at the man who was running through the crowd.  Henry came out from behind his volcano and flung himself in to the man’s open arms.

“David!  You made it!”

“You asked me to be here, so I’m here.  Plus your Mom asked me to come help you with this bubbling thing,” David, the new visitor, gave him a rather serious look and a wink.  Henry nodded in response and that was when he knew the jig was up.  They wouldn’t be getting the little Mills boy now, at least not at the Science Fair at any rate. 

“That’s great!  Is she going to make it back here?”

There was a frown on the man’s face then.  Something unspoken passing between the two as he shook his head. 

“She had an emergency come up at the office, you know sometimes things just don’t go as planned in the publishing business.  Buuuuttttt, she sent _me_ along to help straighten things out!”

It was time to think of a new plan.

 

* * *

 

Felix slid the iPhone from his pocket as it chirped at him. 

_I need to speak with you._

He wondered whom the home office had sent out for the mark this time if the boss was requesting an audience.  He opened the telephone app, dialing the number from memory and taking a deep breath as he counted the rings across the line. 

“Never send a boy to do a man’s work, Felix.”

No greeting – straight into the order of business.  He exhaled and smiled, this was why he was second in command and if he wasn’t too full of himself his boss was about to confirm that. 

“Do you need me to step in, sir?”

“You are excessively good at what you do, Felix.  It’s a wonder anything has been accomplished while you’ve been following the little lost girl and the drunk.” 

“And while they’ve been ever so entertaining, I believe you needed a man to finish a job?”

“The boy – the Darlings, those blundering idiots – they couldn’t manage to get him away from his piranha of a mother!  Be a dear and collect him for me?  You know how much I need him to fully enact my plan.”

He sighed, something low and guttural.  This was going to be tricky.  Regina Mills reminded Felix of the Evil Queen from a fairy tale.  She was vicious, ruthless, fiercely protective…  Piranha was a very accurate description. 

“But sir, you need the boy in your possession by the end of the day Friday otherwise your brother…”

“Yes, yes, Felix but I’m sending you.  And you operate with the entire force and will of my organization, do you not?”

“Outwitting the Evil Queen in less than a day – that will be an impressive feat.  Perhaps, even a little beyond my skills, sir?”

Felix could hear the frustration across the line.  The boss wasn’t happy, and when the boss wasn’t happy…

“She loves the boy, Felix, and that makes her weak.  I’d like to keep this as far from the office as possible, but I think there’s no avoiding that now.  I’ll call her in as a distraction for you.  Remember, he must be unharmed… For now.”

“Of course, sir,” he couldn’t contain his smile as the call disconnected.  They were so close.  It was amazing how neatly this plan was sewn together, how closely all the dots came before they connected. 

The iPhone chirped with the incoming travel details for Regina Mills and her sons.  Direct into Heathrow on the red eye.  They’d be in town and at his mercy before the day was out, and this was blessing because they didn’t have long to bring Henry over as a willing member to their plot.  Felix couldn’t help but wonder if they would succeed, especially now when everything seemed within their grasp. 

He fumbled with the package of cigarettes in his pocket, the one that saved for moments when the anxiety became too much and he needed to detach himself from the situation.  He plucked on from the packet, there were only a few left and they were mostly stale, but they still gave him the needed jolt.  He took the end between his teeth and dug through his pockets for a light.

_Of course we will,_ he thought as he lit the cigarette and took a long pull.  _It may take some time, but Pan never fails._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what happened to the soul, that you used, to be? I'm searching for something that I can't reach - [Ghost](https://youtu.be/ao4o-XRU_KM) by Halsey


	7. broken dreams and silent screams, empty churches with soulless curses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we are getting a HELL of a lot of backstory in here. I want you all to understand, I tried to keep some of the ideas of what Emma has been through close to canon, please don't hate me for the hell I'm about to put her through. You have some idea of what I did based on her flashback to it, but now you're going to find out more... And it is going to hurt. There's some time jumping in the early part of this chapter and at the end. This one is much longer than I expected, hence why it's a biweekly update this time and why it's late (being that it's now Monday night as I'm posting this for you now qualifies as late to me - I'd like them up by Saturday or just after the new episode). Once is back and all is right with reality again, so let's make fluffy fics to make up for that sick, depraved need we have to see them struggle for their happiness on a weekly basis. Yeah, this isn't a fluffy one either - I should work on that... 
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show...

* * *

 

There was a lot of chatter over the airwaves lately.  August Booth was paying particular attention to the chatter that involved the company he generally contracted through, Fabled Story Enterprises.  Being a freelancer had its perks, and there was a lot of chatter on the airwaves now about Fabled Story, Sherwood and Neverland.  A lot of chatter – one hot mess of chatter. 

He sauntered down the sidewalk to the corner store, shades fully in place against the glaring midday sun and pondered what it was that he could possibly do now that would safe guard his position.  There really wasn’t much.  Everything that he had done to guard against this possible outcome had failed if the chatter was correct.  Every protection that he had offered by being present was in fact broken.  He’d never told a soul.  No one had any idea. 

He’d covered his tracks so well, no one had any idea that he was the man responsible for any of it.  At least, none of the ones involved knew about it, but the chatter was disconcerting.  It meant that someone knew.  Someone knew what had been done, maybe not who had done it, but they knew what had been done.  They’d connected the dots, maybe they’d always known, always lying in wait for the right moment to strike but that they were striking now…

He pulled a postcard from the rack, the picturesque map proclaiming ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ in all its cartoon glory.  It would have to do – at least the recipient would know it was from him.  He paid the cashier and found himself crossing the street to Granny’s Diner for a coffee, the postcard tucked safely in the interior pocket of his coat.  It was a quiet day, not a single vehicle out of place on Main Street. 

The regular lunch crowds were gathered inside the diner, and he feared for a moment that he wouldn’t find a seat even at the short term counter.  As luck would have it, his regular booth in the window opened up just as August walked through the door.  Fortuitous good fortune at least in some regards.  If only some things had remained so lucky.  He slid in to his usual seat and watched the world pass by the windows as he waited for the waitress. 

“What’ll it be, sunshine?”

He snapped his gaze over to her.  It wasn’t the usual girl, in fact it wasn’t anyone he’d ever seen in here before.  She was pretty – very pretty, and he was fairly sure she was young enough to be trouble, but old enough not to care about it one damned fig. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before, and I’m a connoisseur of all things Granny’s.  I’m August,” he held out his hand to shake as a Cheshire like grin spread across his face.  She seemed to be considering taking it, head tilting to the side coyly and a smile spreading across her own lips. 

“Rosie,” she leaned in to whisper before taking his hand, “but most people call me Tink.  Now, what’ll it be?”

_Dammit!  I should have known!  Neverland!_

“Is this a friendly visit, or one that’s…”

“Friendly on my part,” she scribbled something on the note pad and pulled the chit off appearing to organize the items in the pouches of her apron.  She let the chit fall on the table in front of him as she pulled the bundle of wrapped cutlery from the pouch.  She turned her back to him and added, “I’ll be right back with your coffee.  Double cream no sugar,” and swayed her hips back and forth like a pendulum as she crossed the diner floor.  August focused on the hips rather than the note that Tink had dropped on the table, come on he was a red blooded male, and only chose to take in the chit when she’d crossed the threshold of the counter and her behind could no longer be seen. 

IT’S NOT GOLD

The only words written on the chit.  _It’s not Gold – what the hell does that mean?_

August looked up in time to see Tink coming back across the diner with his coffee, stopping along the way to refill one or two of cups of other patrons from the pot she held in one hand.  He wanted to ask her more, he wanted to really chat with her and find out what she knew.  He wondered if he could trust a rival agent to tell him that though.  He scribbled WHO? beneath the message on the chit and left it in her view when she returned to the table.  He noticed her frown at the word. 

“Would you like to hear the specials today or would you like a recommendation?”

“I think a recommendation would be good – what would you eat if you were here for lunch?”  August hoped she was getting the full intent of his words.  He wondered if that was enough for Tink to start spilling secrets or even just something as small as a name. 

“I would try the Grilled Cheese – with onion rings, though not french fries.  Whatever you do,” Tink leaned in conspiratorially and tapped on the WHO? as she spoke, “Avoid the _Pan_ seared Salmon with _French_ onion soup.  That stuff will turn your stomach green.” She straightened back up and awaited his reply. 

She’d given him names Pan and French – he was pretty sure that Pan was Malcolm Pan, Neverland’s founder and the not so well known brother of Robert Gold – but French _could_ be more than one person…

“Hmmmm, well the Grilled Cheese sounds delicious – but not the onion rings.  Maybe a nice _green_ salad?  Maybe even complete with _green_ tomatoes sliced up?”

“Sliced and diced?  That’s the only way I’d want the green ones near me,” Tink snorted as she scribbled the order on the pad.  August understood.  This wasn’t anyone else, this was Pan and Zelena de Lautour though the one in charge was probably Pan. 

“That sounds like the right idea to me, _Rosie_ ,” he gave the same emphasis to her name as he had to the word Green.  She wasn’t an enemy if she was handing him hints.  She also wasn’t an ally, yet…

“I’ll be right back with your order, sugar,” Tink softly intoned as she wandered off to place his order with the kitchen leaving August with his thoughts.

He wondered how to word it, as he slipped the postcard from his inner pocket.   He wondered what to say that would get the recipient on the move, _running_ for dear life.  He wondered if there was a covert way to make it enough, to make it truthful enough to relay the imminent danger that had been chasing them for the last nine years, the danger that was finally catching up.  He knew Emma Swan.  He knew how angry she was inside, how _lost_.  He knew and he was betting the recipient did too. 

 

_“You have to get me away from here,” he’d said with a sort of terror in his voice, “You know who my father is – you know what he’ll do.  You have to get me out of here!  Hide me!”_

_“It’s too late Neal,” August said, shaking his head with a knowing smile, “Emma has a surprise for you.  When you asked me to dig around, I found this out too.”  He handed the medical record to his client.  He didn’t work that much freelance, he was a full time operative for Fabled Story, but since he’d met Neal Cassidy out at the bar, they’d become fast friends.  And even faster conspirators._

_Neal had originally hired him (well asked him really), about the waitress in a little café that he liked to frequent, one Emma Swan.  He’d wanted to know just how to go about getting the beautiful blonde to agree to have a drink with him – or coffee, or something rather college aged romantic.  He’d given the young man a few tips – he wasn’t that much younger than August himself, but he felt a sort of fatherly pull to the man even though they’d barely met.  He’d given him the obligatory advice on how he should approach her – to the point that Neal finally said, “Nah, man I already tried all that.  What does she love?  What would make her take notice of me when I haven’t really impressed before?”  Well, that was the moment that Neal had become more of a client than a friend._

_He’d wanted to know about Emma Swan, so August (between assignments at the moment and completely able to throw himself into something extracurricular) became an aficionado on all things Emma Swan.  First he’d followed her, as any good detective would do.  She lived, well she didn’t really live much of anywhere.  She was a squatter in an old loft building – it was an industrial building that was long since taken off the market, but the water worked and there was electricity funneled in from a mechanics’ shop that was actually open below.  August didn’t think the mechanic knew of her presence – the shop was pretty loud during the day and usually Emma was only there to sleep._

_She didn’t have much – no more than a few outfits and her uniform for the diner.  She was always “borrowing” everything else she could need from the diner’s lost and found.   Books, gloves, scarves, umbrellas…  She knew how to make everything work in her favour.  If August had to guess, he would peg her for a runaway.  Without searching a little deeper he couldn’t tell her age with any certainty – but he was betting she was just the wrong side of legal.  He’d mentioned that to Neal.  Neal didn’t seem to care._

_“The heart wants what the heart wants,” he’d shrugged and smiled at the idea._

_He was already in a rather shady business, so he pressed on because how horrible would it be to set up a twenty-four year old with a seventeen, maybe almost eighteen if he was lucky, year old girl?  He was sure he’d have some pangs of guilt about it if the relationship went south, but Neal seemed to be quite taken with the girl so he didn’t think about it too much.  He’d figured out that she loved to read the classics and thought that maybe a book and some hot cocoa would be better than coffee.  Even better if he procured some cinnamon for said cocoa, which he had and it had worked.  Within a matter of days, Emma Swan and Neal Cassidy were shacking up together.  They’d been going strong ever since.  Until two weeks before…_

_Two weeks before August had been working an op, one that rang a little too close to home for comfort, when he’d spotted something whilst doing a little surveillance of his targets home.  Regina wasn’t so sure that her little deal with Robert Gold was a good thing, August couldn’t really see fit to blame her for that thought either because after all the surveillance he’d been doing he knew the man was shadier than fuck – well he was at least shadier than his former girlfriend, the operative more commonly known as ‘Blue.’  A picture on a credenza in the man’s private study had been all it had took for August to feel frightened.  One little picture and it had forced August to confront his drinking buddy._

_“Do you see what this is, Cassidy?  Just who the hell are you really?”_

_He couldn’t control his voice, it was arcing higher and higher as his fear began to seep through.  This wasn’t how a good agent behaved.  He knew that, but he didn’t take kindly to being used, if that’s what Neal was doing._

_“I never meant for you to find out.  Please, I’m begging you!  NO ONE can ever know!”_

_He’d heard the sob story, mistreated as a child – well, not really mistreated just a little neglect but still…  He’d run because his father seemed content to lead him into the control of his company that (since his sainted mother had run off with another man) had fallen into a shadier side of the business world.  It was a side of the business world that he hadn’t been fond of, so he’d ran.  His father was the most private person on the planet.  He’d managed to evade the notice of the press – in fact he didn’t even think the press knew that his father had had a family at all.    Then he asked if he could get him away, hide him._

_Something had Neal more spooked than August had been at the start.  He wasn’t sure what it was, maybe the glow of his relationship was wearing off considering they had been living together for four months.  He started digging around for him, trying to procure him a set of new identification papers and trying desperately to bury Neal Cassidy as a figment of people’s imagination.  The plan was simple, he would get passports and documentation for him, and Emma of course after much prodding on August’s part for that (the pangs of guilt were already beginning to form), and they would get out of the country quickly and quietly.  Gold had footholds everywhere but if their names were changed, their new documentation intact… They just might be able to hide out for a little while.  Finding out that Emma was pregnant complicated things.  August could hide one person, hell he could even hide a couple but he didn’t think that kind of life would be conducive to raising a child.  He also didn’t like the idea of a pregnant woman being on the run and nowhere near proper medical care._

_“Look, I can’t send you yet – not while she’s pregnant, not with an infant… But after it’s about six months old I should be able to hide you all without issue.  Even have a place set up and ready to accommodate all three of you.”_

_Neal hadn’t liked his answer.  Not one bit._

_“My father is a menace, please August!  There’s no telling what he would do to me – to Emma and our child… Please!”_

_“Absolutely not, Neal.  My offer stands.  I’ll get everything ready but not before the six month mark.”_

_He’d thought that had been it, at least it had seemed to be the end of it.  Neal hadn’t asked again, not for lack of trying August could tell, as Emma did most of the preparation for the birth of their child.  Nothing was said again until there was some chatter in the airwaves, chatter that said that Gold had some spies in the area and was in search of a missing ‘relative’ he had heard was in Boston.  That had sent a shudder down his spine.  He’d felt it wise to step up the preparations for the little family’s departure._

_He’d had another three days to prepare.  The birth of Emma and Neal’s son taking up the first of the three days, when the chatter had gotten louder.  August had a run in with one Zelena de Lautour’s favourite flunky, a mangy looking man than answered to the name of Walsh, but was more aptly known as the Wizard.  He was a magician, had an absolute way with making people and things just_ disappear _without a trace.  This could not be a good sign.  As far as he knew, Zelena de Lautour was working with Gold, for Gold.  She was his right hand.  Walsh’s presence could only signal the want to take Neal Cassidy and his young family – or to destroy them.  With the shadowy dealings he’d been hearing about in the Middle East, so he just couldn’t be sure of the true intent._

_On the third day there was a phone call, one that he had hoped he wouldn’t hear.  He was just coming off a long night of work, and he wasn’t as sharp as he normally was, but he was still functioning enough to make plans – still functioning enough that should it be the moment to run, he would be able to help._

_“Hello?”_

_“August!  You have to come quick – there was a man here, he said… He called me Bae, he knew who I was!  August he’s going to come back when my whole family is here.  He stared at my_ son _and looked annoyed and muttered something about my father – PLEASE!”_

_He barely had a moment to react.  He started rushing about his apartment throwing the items he thought he would need into his duffle bag.  He wasn’t contracted to Fabled Story after the end of this mission, he was a free agent, he could make this work.  Papers of all kinds, weapons, he was grabbing everything that he could think of._

_“Neal, is Emma there?”_

_“No – no, she had a checkup with the doctor, it’s just me and the baby.  August, I’m scared.”_

_“Don’t worry – I’m going to get you out of there.  All of you,” August was trying to reassure the man as he fumbled the key fob to his Jeep and pulled the door closed to the apartment behind him.  It didn’t matter if he locked it – he wasn’t going to be back for a while, but he was sure that the landlady would take care of it for him.  She was good like that.  “I’m about twenty minutes out, be ready to move.”_

_He’d made all the preparations he could, but things had been moved up.  He’d had to play fast and loose – grabbing the corpse of a man who looked nothing like Neal except the shaggy haircut that was going to be incinerated anyways.  The infant corpse was harder to come by.  That he had to pull major strings for.  He hadn’t been able to find a woman – he’d have to think of something else for Emma, something just a few days longer away.  That loft was going up in flames this morning – with Emma there or not._

August scratched the word BROKEN across the back of the postcard with his black Sharpie pen and then scrawled the last address he’d known for one Neal Cassidy.  He addressed the card to B N Cassidy – 89 Wooster Street, New York, NY.  He was fairly certain the loft would still be where he was.  He wasn’t sure what name Neal was going by nowadays – they hadn’t had the luxury of speaking since that last day, when he’d made one final request of him.

 

_“Please, August,” Neal whined a little, cuddling the baby to his chest, “I can’t run with him, and I can’t guarantee after this that you’re going to be able to get Emma along with us after what you just did – and frankly I don’t even know if she’d want to come.  Take him somewhere safe – make sure he’s with someone safe, Emma already will think he’s dead.  She never needs to know anything.  Please!”_

_“Jesus, Neal!  You’re asking a helluva lot here!  Why can’t you just let me wait til it dies down a little bit and then get Emma out of there too?”_

_“She’s safe – that creep never saw her, she’s safe from my father… But the baby, she’s probably beside herself with grief for him – she’ll never have to know.”_

_“You’re taking the coward’s way out!”_

_“I’m taking the only way out – I can’t be responsible for a baby!  I love her but how can I be with someone who doesn’t believe my father is that bad!”_

_“Jesus!”_

_August turned away, raking a shaky hand through his hair.  Those pangs of guilt over Emma could now fill a river, maybe even the Grand Canyon.  But he was right.  Neal was right, and if they saw Emma as anything but the grieving mother that she should have been, then Zelena might catch on to the fact that Neal was not, in fact, a charred mass that would be buried in the ground._

_“I have a contact – I don’t know if she can take him right away, but I’ll take a look.  Her name is Colette, absolutely wonderful with children.  She runs a sort of private adoption service, no questions asked for the little ones she takes in.  I’m sure she can arrange something.”_

He hadn’t planned to spend his lunch mulling over the past.  It was amazing how nine years had flown by and yet he still felt those pangs of guilt and regret.  Emma had done well for herself.  She’d become something that he was certain she could never have been without those hardships, so his guilt and regret really wasn’t that deep after all.  Plus, she did have some privilege and some people that she called family now.  She seemed to be straightening out her life.  She still didn’t know the part that he had played, otherwise the Saviour might have had a hard time watching Pinocchio’s six out there and he was grateful for every moment she had done that.  Sadness had made her strong.  Sadness had hardened her, yes, but it had made her into one of the strongest, kindest, most honourable operatives he had ever had the good fortune to work with. 

August thought about that little baby boy now.  He’d kept tabs on him, made sure Colette let him know where (and with whom) he finally found his forever home.  Shocking really, the way all the pieces fell in to place.  The deal for the little boy’s adoption had been brokered quietly by one Robert Gold.  Within a matter of hours, the unnamed progeny of Neal Cassidy and Emma Swan, became the heir to a fantastic dynasty of sorts.  Four days after he was born, the little boy became Henry Daniel Mills.

 

* * *

 

The knock startled him.  Killian was in that weird state between awake and asleep, that one where if you closed your eyes a whole hour could pass by in that single blink.  He’d left the lights out in the room after his failed attempt at sleeping, Milah too much on his brain, but when the knock came again (slightly harder than before this time) Killian moved towards his night stand and the light.  He must have made more noise than he thought because he could hear her voice, a stage whisper through the door, telling him to leave the lights off. 

“My, my Swan,” he said as he opened the door and leaned his hip against the frame, “Isn’t this a surprise!  Couldn’t stay away from all this roguish charm, I see.”  He arched an eyebrow, lips turning up seductively.  He could see her rolling her eyes and trying not to smile.  She was beautiful, but if she had come to his room for a romp she was definitely overdressed.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it,” she muttered, a little under her breath with the roll of the eyes but he’d caught it, barely, “We’re being watched.  We have a visitor out in the bushes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!  There’s nothing anywhere around here that I remember seeing, no neighbours, nothing, and I’m pretty sure your buddy Smee isn’t a smoker.”

Killian nodded his affirmation, he could hear Mr. Smee’s snoring from across the hall despite the fact that he knew the man’s only true vice was the delectable baked goods from the patisserie down the street from the Neverland offices.  He would admit that he himself had a weakness for their cinnamon rolls with the cream cheese frosting, but only if truly pressed.  His brow furrowed as his thoughts moved back to the unannounced visitor that was hiding in the park.  It seemed that their off the grid safehouse was no longer so safe, nor off the grid if someone had discovered their location. 

“Only one?”

“That I could see – at least only one smoker.”

“They either tailed us or there’s a device of some kind on your rental car.”

“Dammit!”

“We didn’t have the luxury of time to check, love, we were trying to keep up an act.  Well, we couldn’t give it a detailed check.  I was dropped at the café, so mine wouldn’t have been any help.”

Emma pushed past him, her body brushing against him as she moved into the room.  His whole body tingled at the contact.  It wasn’t much, a brush of her shoulder against him.  Not even skin to skin contact, but it was like a fire had been set off inside him.  He had never experienced anything like that before.  It took him a few moments to realize that she was speaking again. 

“Killian!”

“Pardon, love?”

He trailed his tongue along his bottom lip, shaking his head to try and pull himself out of his thoughts.  She was captivating and the reaction that she was eliciting in him was something he couldn’t believe.  There was definitely attraction on her part, but she guarded herself so well, he wasn’t sure there was any way to reach her.  It made him wonder just how many times she had been wronged in the past, nor who could possibly ever treat her so poorly. 

“I said, I think we should get out of here.”

“Us, yes, but I don’t think we’d have any success rousing Mr. Smee fully enough to sneak out here silently,” he grumbled at the thought of Smee attempting to walk away from the cottage… silently - _in the dark_!  They had a better chance of setting off fireworks in the middle of a thunderstorm.  Killian started moving towards Emma and the window.  If he could determine just how many were out there and just what they were after…

“Right over there.”

Emma had extended an arm across his waist to stop him from moving into the line of sight and pointed with the other towards the densest, darkest section of the park.  He could see a little flicker of light in the darkness.  The flicker of someone taking a pull on a cigarette.  He placed his hand on her shoulder as he leaned in a little closer to her ear. 

“I think we only have one uninvited guest out there.”

“Could he have followed the geek squad here?”

“Aye, anything is possible, love.”

“We need to go – but we can’t leave him unprotected so we’re just going to have to wake him.”

She hadn’t removed the arm she had extended and her hand lay pressed flat against his abdomen, the heat from her palm radiating through him in waves.  His mind was reeling, and not from the potential exposure, but from the close proximity to the golden haired Saviour.  A sharp intake of breath, heart beginning to race in his chest. If she couldn’t hear it, he was positive that she could feel it and then he wondered if perhaps she was right that he couldn’t handle it, when he heard the same telltale pant to her breathing.  Their eyes met and she pulled away her hand, hurrying for the door. 

“Perhaps _you_ are the one who couldn’t handle it, love.”

Her only rebuttal was frustrated sigh and some sort of grumbling about darkness and weapons, but he was sure that this was going to be fun after all. 

 

Emma had roused him easily with her knock.  It had taken only minutes to convince Hook that there was someone waiting in the shrubbery outside – she was loathe to admit that she enjoyed his flirtatious attention, but it was still ridiculously distracting.  It wasn’t the first moment she’d cursed his attractiveness, it was bordering on offensive. 

They’d moved the cottage easily in the dark of night, gathering weaponry and whatever belongings they could.  It was much easier for Emma – she hadn’t bothered to unpack anything they had brought in yet.  She was used to that, not unpacking things, not being anywhere for long enough that unpacking was worth it.  Especially after the fire. 

She’d left Killian in charge of waking Smee, he’d left her in charge of figuring out how to get out of here without getting caught by default.  She hadn’t quite figured out how that was going to work.  Right now she’d found herself climbing up in to the attic and using the night vision and sniper sights from a spare rifle to get a better look at their uninvited guest.  There was just one out there, and he was just kind of standing there looking at the cottage – he had a phone in his hand, she could see the glow of the screen pressed against his cheek and he was speaking into it.  Changing of the guard might be happening here, or he could be calling in reinforcements.  The best thought she had was to take the rental car and ditch it at the first possible opportunity if there were trackers on it.  Emma might as well enlist some of Mr.  Smee’s gizmos to see if he could determine if there were any GPS locating devices on it.  At best they could get them off or get the car back to lot and switch out for a new one. 

Their guest lit another cigarette.  She had him between the sights, but wasn’t relishing the idea of taking him out.  She didn’t even know who he was working for yet.    Maybe a glancing blow?  Something to inflict pain and take his sights off the house long enough to grab him?

“I wouldn’t do that, Swan.  I know how we’re getting out of here.”

She jumped a little at the sound of his whisper.  Killian ‘Hook’ Jones was right behind her!  He’d snuck up on her without her notice, which was saying something because Emma Swan was never the one who was caught by surprise. 

“Jesus, Killian!”

She’d fumbled the mouth of the gun with her jump, but she still had the interloper in her sights.  She wasn’t called the Saviour for nothing – the ability she had to take a shot and make it with incredible precision.  It was talent, a kind of superpower, rather like her ability to tell when someone was lying to her.  Killian, it seemed, was not. 

“There’s a garage, just to the side of the property.  We should be able to get to it and the car inside,” he motioned to the right, farthest from their “friend.”

“That looks like a shed, not a garage.”

“That’s the point.  There’s a passage up into it from the cellar, we should be able to get there without rousing any suspicion.”

“Alright then, Hook, lead the way.”

Things just got a little bit easier – provided the car in the shed wasn’t bugged either, they should be able to get away clear.  Mark one win off in the heroes’ column, after all. 

 

* * *

 

“Mom?”

Henry’s voice cut in Regina’s reverie.  She’d only just gotten Roland settled in the cabin, she was trying to relax in the chair, maybe catch a couple of minutes sleep when Henry had poked his head into her compartment.  They’d hired three International Business class cabins on the red eye flight to London after the ridiculousness that had occurred at the Science Fair.  Regina was so certain that Zelena was behind this mangled attempt at kidnapping her son that she couldn’t bear to stay in Storybrooke.  She felt they would be safer with Robin and surrounded by the burly men of the Sherwood offices for protection. 

She’d also dragged Mary Margaret, David and their little boy along for the ride – hence the third cabin.  She knew she needed help, actually she hadn’t been able to ask for it but when she’d made it in to the office that morning, Mary Margaret had burst into her office and told her that she understood how she felt and that if she was going to protect her son she needed some people with her she could trust for protection.  Who would be better for that than family?  Mary Margaret wasn’t blood family, Regina didn’t have any of that left anymore, but she was intimately connected through the painful reminder of her failed first marriage during the years when she had been content to seek out power over love.  The years when the darkness and hunger were all that consumed her, along with a burning desire for vengeance against her own mother for her wrongdoings.  When you considered the power of deathbed confessionals and apologies, her mother’s had held some of the greatest power imaginable.  She still felt the prick of anger after all this time. 

“What is it, Henry?”

She’d lost her patience – she knew it.  She’s never been one to trust the motives of others – wasn’t that part of the reason she had chosen espionage as her career – because she hadn’t trusted the motives of her mother?  It was hard for her to admit that the Nolan’s motives were true, or that she was even deserving of their help.  Actually she was fairly certain it was their affections for Henry and their job security that had them vowing to help her.  Or maybe it was the added proximity of Miss Swan that made them want to join the Mills-Locksley family on their voyage across the Atlantic.  Furrowing her brow, Regina gave a most regal frown and sucked in a breath.  She needed to take a different tact, this wasn’t Henry’s fault.  She stretched out a hand to beckon him to her. 

“Let’s try this again,” she pulled her son into her lap.  There weren’t many more times that her nine year old son would allow her to do this and she suddenly felt as though she needed to take advantage of every last one.  “What’s wrong – aside from the obvious – and how can I help?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled a little bit nervously, “I guess being on a plane because your Mom thinks your friend was going to hurt him is a little obvious, isn’t it?”

She wasn’t used to this – Henry knowing what was going on.  It was more accurate than she could have imagined.  How had he gotten wind of exactly what was going on?

“What?  Henry,” she admonished, “I don’t think your friend was going to _hurt_ you.  She’s a little girl, that’s insane!”

“That’s why we’re on this plane, isn’t it?”

That gave her pause.  What he was saying wasn’t a lie – but it wasn’t how she wanted him to feel, how she _needed_ him to feel.  Secrecy in her line of work was key, just how much of this could she possibly relate to a nine year old that he could understand?  She wasn’t sure that she could give him what he was looking for right now.  She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

“No, Henry that is _not_ why we are one the plane.  We are on the plane because Robin is in London and I thought it would be nice if we could all get away and spend some quality time _together_.”

“As long as it’s away from Storybrooke, the Darlings and everyone that I know!”

She had thought she had a few years before this kind of stuff started, the angst and the grief and the “I hate my mother” routine that she had gone through herself.  He struggled a little to get away, but she held on a little tighter.  She couldn’t lose her baby. 

“I’m not taking you from everyone you know!  If I was, would Mary Margaret and David and little baby Neal be with us?  You like the Nolans, you like Roland and Robin and I seem to remember that you liked some of the other men that work with Robin at Sherwood.  Wasn’t there a game that you all liked to play?  What was that anyways?”

“Spies,” he grumbled with a small smile.  He had no idea how right that was, and Regina didn’t really want to enlighten him. 

“Annnd, Emma is here.  I sent her ahead to work on a little project –“

“Emma?”

Henry’s face warmed as he perked up to her name.  Regina knew he adored her, she played video games with him and always seemed to have time to listen to every little detail of his day.  Regina loved hearing about his day, but she was a busy woman.  She preferred the condensed version of events.  Henry was quite the little wordsmith and she hadn’t quite figured out how to teach him the fine art of summarization. 

“Absolutely!  I’m sure she’d be happy to spend a little bit of time with you once she knows that we’re here too!”

  _If she finishes this task, she can spend time with you, but hold out hope for too much time.  This one isn’t going to be easy for her._

Her son was appeased and headed back across to the other cabin with a smile.  She felt a little bit guilty, but he just wasn’t old enough to understand.  He’d get over it, it was already forgotten to his mind.  Regina pulled her Fabled Story issue phone from her pocket and shot a text off quickly to Miss Swan. 

_I need to speak with you – ASAP_

There wasn’t much of delay for the response.

**_We’ve got company.  Let us get into the wind._ **

Regina’s brow furrowed yet again.  If their safe house was compromised this was an issue indeed.  She had to get to the bottom of this, and just who really was to blame for all this.  She was sure that it was Zelena, and Gold by extension once he caught wind that her company had accepted the contract out on him, but now she wasn’t so sure.  She wasn’t sure how any of this benefitted Robert Gold in any way, shape or form. 

_Compromised?_

**_Sort of._ **

That wasn’t exactly the answer that she was looking for.  Regina’s brow furrowed again, she pursed her lips as she glared at her international clocks on the iPhone.  They weren’t going to touch down at Heathrow soon enough for her liking…

 

* * *

 

Somehow they had made it out without arousing any suspicion.  Emma had worried a little when her phone had gone off in the middle of their climb into the shed like garage.  There were only two small windows, but they still had to keep the lights out.  The car had been covered by a tarp – there were also boxes and other odds and ends on top of it so that it didn’t have the shape of a vehicle.  She wondered when it had last been used or if it would even run! 

“How are we going to get the doors open and the car started without gaining unwanted attention?”

“Relax, Swan, I have it under control.”

Smee had checked over the car for signs of listening devices or tracking devices while Killian and Emma had stayed on point in the windows watching for their uninvited guests and any signs that he was aware they were on the move.  They had to get away, and this was their only shot.  Within moments, the car was deemed fit to be used and they proceeded to load everything in as quickly and quietly as they could.

“Do you think you’re going to be able to tell me how we’re going to get out of here now?”

“I’ve always preferred the direct approach myself, love.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The car was an eyesore – a sort of cross between a hippy love van and a farm truck.  They’d piled inside and pulled the doors shut as quietly as they could.  Emma was snapping the buckle in place when he spoke again. 

“Everyone buckled up?”

“Killian –“

There wasn’t time for an explanation, he’d turned the key in the ignition and the roar as the ancient engine came to life drowned out the silence they’d been trying to maintain.  He revved the engine quickly and then threw the truck in to gear. 

“HOLD ON!”

Foot down of the accelerator, the truck-slash-van chugged forth into motion with more power than she thought should be possible for its weight and age.  AS the approached the double door with ramming speed she began to understand what he’d meant by preferring the direct approach.  The truck plowed through the doors with extreme force.  The lock that had once kept the shed closed wrenched open, splintering and shattering the edges of the soft wooden doors and blowing the remaining pieces back on their hinges.  They were out! 

There was a sharp metallic ping on the side of the truck.  If she hadn’t known better she would have sworn it was debris hitting the side paneling, but when there was a yelp of pain from the back seat, she knew what it was.  Emma released the belt buckle and turned in her seat, weapon up and at the ready.  She caught sight of the intruder.  He’d left the safe encasement of the shrubbery and was running across the yard at them.  Smee was hunched over on the bench seat, clutching at his shoulder. 

“STAY DOWN!” she bellowed at him as she took aim. 

“Swan!”

Killian’s arm shot across at her as she squeezed the trigger letting off a single shot that blasted through the back windscreen sending shards of glass blowing back behind them.  The arm had been enough to move her off her target, just a fraction of an inch.  She tried to focus on her result – scanning the ground behind them for the gunman, wondering if she’d finally managed to miss and praying that she hadn’t. 

“Shit!”

She slammed her fist into the headrest with fervor.  She’d missed – there was no man laying prone of the lawn.  There was no man lying there at all.  If she’d hit her mark he would be on the ground, instead all she could see behind them was the open expanse of grass. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” she blasted Hook and all his incompetence for stopping her shot, throwing her off the target.  She could have taken him out, could have stopped this ridiculousness right then and there. 

“Because if you’d stayed lined up as you were the next shot would have been through your head!” he admonished. 

She’d been singularly focused on the mark, she hadn’t be cognizant of the danger that was before them.  She turned back to the front of the cab quickly scanning for the truth she’d heard in his words.  The glass at the rear hadn’t shattered from the impact of her shot alone, he had been firing at her as well.  The slug that had been meant for her an angry glare from the rear view mirror that it was wedged into.  If she had stayed lined up as she was, it would have been a scene reminiscent of the Kennedy assassination with pieces of her skull littering the front windscreen.  She turned back to their injured passenger, reaching a hand between the seats to the bench where Mr. Smee lay crouched, blood pooling through his fingertips from the blast. 

“How you doing back there, Mr. Smee?”

“Oh _just peachy,_ ” came the breathy reply, his face scrunched up from the pain of his injuries.  Emma grimaced.  Smee’s complexion was growing more pallid as they traveled along. 

She tried to get a peek at the wound, but it wasn’t possible from this angle.  Emma turned herself back around and ducked down to start rummaging through the bag at her feet for any kind of first aid kit.  Mary Margaret usually stashed some good stuff in her carry ons, sometimes she even manages to get antibiotic ointments in there.  She started tearing pieces of her flannel nightshirt to improvise as a tourniquet.  She needed to determine the severity – if the bullet was still lodged inside his shoulder, well that would make things a hell of a lot more difficult and she wasn’t a doctor.   

“We have to get someplace safe, ditch the van… And I have to take a look at that wound,” Emma said softly for Killian’s ears alone. 

She turned to look at him, almost able to see the wheels moving in there.  He was planning something – maybe where to go, how to help Smee.  She had to get back there and see just how badly the man was hurt.

“I – I can’t take him to any Neverland facilities, if he needs more help, is there – “

The thought stirred in her head and a name popped in unbidden.  He’d been someone Mary Margaret had had a fling with before she and David had settled down.  If Smee needed serious help, then Victor Whale could probably give it.  He was contracted to Sherwood, but his home allegiance was with Fabled Story, and guessing that Smee’s information came from a place outside of Neverland’s reach, Emma knew that they would need his injury kept off their radar.

“I know a guy,” Emma said softly, touching her hand to his forearm in a gesture of comfort, “Lemme go take a look at it.  If it’s clean, we can worry a little less, but if not, I’ll get in touch with the Doc.”

With that, Emma contorted her body to maneuver into the back bench with Mr. Smee to assess the damage. 

 

* * *

 

_Robert Gold, CEO of GoldBrokers is on the move again!  Apparently, Mr. Gold and his beautiful young lady friend have grown tired of the French countryside and have taken to travelling the UK.  We wonder where they shall be spotted next!  Reports have them ready to set sail for America, but with the current state of relations between Mr. Gold and the US Government, that seems highly unlikely._

 

* * *

 

It had rained for a week.  The fact that the sun was finally peeking through the clouds brought a smile to his face.  It was something so simple, yet so beautiful.  The week he’d been having… Well, it had been a little more than ‘challenging’ and just slightly less than ‘Hell on Earth,’ and the rain hadn’t helped. 

There were two days – _two days_ – that he was able to really shoot outdoors.  Overcast days were good.  A slight misting shower?  Completely ok.  Thunderous downpours?  Not good, not good at all.  He hadn’t started working as a wedding photographer for the glory, but he wanted to deliver decent shots for the money he charged his clients.  New York weddings weren’t cheap – and having spectacular photographs weren’t either.

He strolled down the street in his charcoal suit, tie slightly undone and shirt half tucked with his shades sliding down his nose a little.  He was pushing them back into place ever few steps, but the fact that there was sun enough to wear them…  Glorious!

“Yoohoo!”

He groaned inwardly as he heard the call of his neighbor but managed to keep a smile on his face and spring in his step.  Mrs. Elstein was a gem of a neighbor, but over the last few months he had the feeling that since the death of Mr. Elstein, she had found a renewed sense of sexual purpose and for some reason that sexual purpose seemed to be directed at him.  At some point he had transitioned from being the pursuer to the pursued, he used to be the older person in the chase, but for a while now he’d become the younger one and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.  There was something questionable that rose in the back of his mind every time that it happened – and something that spoke to demons he’d long ago tried to bury. 

“Hey Mrs. Elstein!”

He forced a grin and waved at the older woman, none to enthusiastically.  His satchel was heavy, the weight of lenses and camera equipment cumbersome across his chest.  He was starting to lose feeling in his arm from the weight.

_Please don’t let this take long!_

“The mailman delivered this to my door by accident, dear, but its address to your apartment though not directly for you.  Who’s B. N. Cassidy?  Is that that nice young lady you’ve had visiting you lately?”

Nick Christians, photographer, felt the air rush from his lungs.  When he managed to calm down and catch his breath, it was a cross between Bailey Gold and Neal Cassidy that was standing there with Mrs. Elstein.  He took the proffered card with a sheepish smile.

“That is something of a college joke, but, If you’ll excuse me…”

“I’m having a little issue with my sink?  Do you think you could pop by and…”

“Absolutely,” he smiled again, brushing her off without any intention to make his way down to see Mrs. Elstein’s sink, “Just give me a little bit.  I have to make a phone call.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Neal had immersed himself in the identity of Nick Christians.  He’d stolen it, a lot like he’d stolen lots of other things in his time.  He’d been terrified that one day things would catch up to him.   He didn’t stop moving until he found himself inside his apartment, after he’d clicked all the locks, not just the deadbolt and the chain.  This wasn’t the time to panic, he didn’t even know who the card was from yet.  He hadn’t even looked at it – he had just wanted to get out of the open street.  He flipped the card over and scanned it. 

**_BROKEN_ **

It was August.  The postmark was Maine, it could ONLY be August.  That meant that some one knew something.  Just how much he wasn’t sure, and it set the beating of his heart into a frenzied panic.  He’d worked too hard to hide himself away to have it all blown to smithereens by a cryptic postcard.  He started rummaging through the apartment.  He would have to leave.  Now, no, after dark.  He just had to get out of here.  

Neal Cassidy was a wanted man, but the question was, wanted by whom?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> broken dreams and silent screams, empty churches with soulless curses - [Bones](https://youtu.be/qDpdpE00rfI) \- MS MR


	8. mama never told 'em there's a devil in me, I got a mouth full of rotten and a heart full of greed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are again my friends... At the start of a roller coaster chapter in honour of CS AU Week on tumblr. Yes, this story began last year during AU Week, and while I have nothing new to add to the fray this year (I decided to go back to college as well as work my full time job and my little kiddo, so slightly crazy but it has to be done!), I decided that it was at least high time to stop being worried about the state of this update and just get rolling again because I have over 31,000 words fully formed in my word doc and I have sketches of the rest of the scenes so lets just stop being so anxious and allow you all to have what this story is. 
> 
> I want to thank you all for sticking with me. Every last mention of the story, every rec, every message, you make me smile and remind me that there is an audience for _RGG_ and it isn't just me that I'm writing it for (because that was really how it started, I had an idea that wouldn't go away). At the end of it all, I think I will post the soundtrack for you all because I have a playlist that helps me write this tale - it helps me get into it emotionally and you'll notice that the chapter titles are all lines from songs. 
> 
> So, if you saw my post on tumblr today and decided to read to refresh yourself - or if you saw my post today in honour of CS AU Week and decided to pick this tale up for the first time and liked it - this one is for you all! Let's get back to the roller coaster, updates might be far in between but I want you to know that this is not going to be abandoned - I am going to finish it! I have it all sketched out, it's just how to get there! Things are moving onwards... and this story is not alone in that.

* * *

 

_This just in – apparently Robert Gold and Belle French were married today in a private ceremony.  TMZ is wishing the elder Gold and his young bride all the best in their newly formed union…  No one really knows what, aside from the fantastic bank balance, that the young Miss French sees in him, but stranger things have happened!_

* * *

 

“Unnnggghhhh…”

“Hold on Mr. Smee,” Emma whispered, one hand fumbling to retrieve her phone from her pocket, the other trying to steady Smee’s barely conscious form while trying to apply pressure.  The bullet was still lodged inside.  They had precious little time to get him to a doctor or his life would be forfeit.  She only really had one person she could contact. 

“How’s he doing back there?”

“We need to be sure we’re not being tracked – I can’t bring down a rain of death on the people we’re going to otherwise they won’t be any help at all.”

Emma thumbed in her password on the iPhone, clicking the Contacts app and scrolling through it.  She could only hope that he wouldn’t turn them away after all the bad blood between them.  She found the right contact under ‘F.’ It wasn’t the nicest reference, but then their relationship had always been an odd one.  She thumbed through the list of numbers and chanced the last one on the list.

The line connected and she heard it begin to ring.

“I can’t see a tail, love.”

There was a second ring, then a third.

“That’s good.”

Then a fourth. 

_This is not good, not good at all…_

At the start of the fifth ring she heard the click of connection on the other end.  Emma stayed silent as she thought she was hearing a machine pick up, but when no message started after thirty seconds of silence, she had a sinking feeling in her stomach.  She dropped the call.  

“Fuck!”

“What?  Is it Smee?”

“No!  No, it’s not.” 

_It was just someone trying to set up a cellular tracer, that’s all, no big deal!  Damn my luck!_

Smee groaned again as they rounded a particularly sharp left into a roundabout.  She knew she had to tell him where they would be going, and she really didn’t want to call in this favour.  She thumbed through her contacts again looking for the one person who might be able to get a doctor to see reason.  She hoped. 

“Swan, I’m going to need to know where I’m going really soon,” the anxiety in his voice caused it to slide upwards, rather like a question.  

The line connected and began to ring before she had to answer him.  It rang once and then connected with a shrill, overly excitable screaming.  The octave range on that scream was impressive.  So much so that Emma winced and pulled the phone away from her ear, shaking her head as if to clear the sound.

_“EMMA!  Ohh  Emmm  Geeeeee!  What are you doing all the way over here, girl?”_

“Listen, Red, 911.”

 

* * *

 

The first light of day filtered through the gauzy lace curtains, splaying patterns across the pale skin of his companion.  Belle, Belle, Belle.  Her beauty fit her name.  He had thought that Colette and Maurice had been joking when they spoke of their beautiful daughter Belle.  He had thought that his heart couldn’t be moved again to any sort of human feeling since his wife had run off and his son had vanished from his life without a trace in search of her.  But Belle…

Belle French, from the moment that he had met her, had captivated his complete attention.  Well, as much of Robert Gold’s attention as could be stolen away from the task of finding his son and bringing him back into his life, no matter what the capacity.  He hadn’t thought it possible.  He hadn’t even hoped that she would reciprocate the attraction that he felt, but in the end it was _she_ who pursued _him_. 

The text tone signalled on his phone.  Belle stirred, but didn’t wake, shifting her body away from him so that his arm was now slightly easier to free from it’s position beneath her.  She was impossibly tiny, and seemed even more so swaddled in the soft duvet coverlet, hair in perfect auburn curls splayed across the pillow.  The text tone signalled again, and Robert Gold shifted his body to reach the offending device. 

_All men must fall._

The words from an unknown number.  He didn’t dignify it with a reply, merely silencing the device and tossing it from the night stand.  This was his wedding night and he would be damned if his blushing bride would be roused from her slumber by any more of this nonsense. 

The texts had been coming for nigh on a week.  Each one a veiled threat, though he wasn’t sure if they were to his person or his empire, but all intent on seeing him fall from grace.  Quite frankly, there wasn’t much grace left to fall from in these passing years.  The UN had been trying unsuccessfully to prove him guilty of some of the vilest atrocities known to man for many a year.  One day someone would be successful at toppling the Gold empire, but today was not that day. 

“Bloody nuisance!”

Robert Gold grumbled his distaste as he burrowed himself deeper into the coverlet and swept his tiny, beautiful wife into his arms once more.

 

* * *

 

“You insensitive mother f-“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before!  Just remember that I’m trying to save your life as you debase me here!”

Every expletive that came from Smee’s mouth seemed a little bit of comfort.  When they’d first arrived he hadn’t been talking.  He’d barely been groaning, so the fact that Smee was lively enough now to threaten Emma’s Doctor friend was cause for Killian’s heart to lighten.  They had been through so much together that he didn’t know what a world without his mate would be like. 

“Ok, ok, now you need to hold still otherwise I’m gonna get the oafs outside to hold you down.  This shouldn’t hurt too much…”

Killian felt a hand land on his shoulder and turned to see Emma standing over him, the handles of two crimson red coffee mugs clutched in the fingers of her left hand.  She raised the mugs slightly, an offer and a silent question in her eyes.   

_How are you holding up?_

Killian was comforted that he could read her, despite the short amount of time that they had known each other.  It was something rather like he and Smee; they were speaking without the necessity of words, something that he knew all great partnerships required in the world of espionage.   He raised his hand to accept the proffered beverage, sweeping the other over the ground beside him inviting her company.  

“Thought you could use a little coffee,” she said softly as she took a seat beside him, her blonde curls tumbling forward to cover her face.  “Its been a long night and I don’t think we’ll be getting much sleep if –“

“YOU ASSHOLE!”

Killian nodded his head in assent with a smirk and a chuckle.  The more vocal Mr. Smee became, the less worried he was becoming about the safety of his oldest friend.  Quite frankly, he was more interested in what was developing between himself and the enchanting Emma Swan.  She was fierce to be sure, and knew how to handle just about any situation. There was one thing he knew for sure, and he couldn’t help but state it.

“You know, for risk of disappointing you, love, we make quite the team you and I.”

The flicker of a smile on her lips before she averted her eyes back to the coffee mug and took a long sip.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he’d actually impressed her with his comment.  He wondered how many partners she had had during her career.  She was nicknames the Saviour, that was something of a solitary position.  He wondered if her experience with team work was with the company at large and not just with a single operative.  Why was she Fabled Story’s loner?  What was it about Emma Swan that made her so hard to get to know?  The curtain of her hair shielded her face as her turned to look at her, and it was then that he realized it. 

“Do we?”

Emma Swan had built walls all around herself.  There was more than a touch of insecurity in her voice as she tucked an errant strand behind her ear, giving him a cryptic smile behind the rim of her mug.  He wanted to break down her walls, make her realize just how wonderful a partnership between them, of any and every capacity would be. 

“Aye, that we do.”

There was a rustle behind them and a dark haired beauty came out of the pseudo operating room.  Killian turned his head to see Red, Ruby as she’d been introduced to him, coming out of the door and blowing a strand of errant crimson that had fallen across her face out of her eyes.  She gave them both a tired smile. 

“He’s doing much better, Whale’s almost done sewing him up.  He’s out now, but you should be able to see him in a little while,” the brunette with shocking streaks of crimson came and took a seat beside them, grabbing Emma’s coffee cup and taking a great gulp.

“Hey!”

“Thanks Ems, I needed that!”  She gave her an impish grin and Emma leaned her head onto the woman’s shoulder, accepting that the caffeinated beverage would not be returning to her lips. 

“I should tell you to get your own,” she grumbled good naturedly.

“You know yours always tastes better,” Ruby shot back with a toothy grin, “So, you want to tell me what brings you to ‘jolly old England?’  Or is that too much to tell?”

“It’s a long story, Red, and it’s not one you want to wind up in the middle of.”

Ruby looked pensive at Emma’s words.  Killian knew these two had once been very close, though he wasn’t sure how close they had been.  Had they been partners once?  Something in their mannerisms told him they were dear friends, but he couldn’t detect the depth of their relationship. 

“We could tell you, lass,” Killian started and was rewarded when Emma picked up his thinking and finished the thought.

“But then we’d have to kill you.”

She smirked and swatted at her friend, righting herself and leaning a little more into Killian’s side.  It felt right, Emma’s body pressed up against his.  He wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.

“You know, you could always tell me about how _you_ wound up staying here and off the Fabled Story roster.  Little Red Riding Hood was always one of our best stories.” 

Ruby’s eyes misted over and she ducked her head.  There was a story here, he was sure of it, but her silence made it seem as though it may be too painful to tell.  She cleared her throat, opening her mouth as if to start and then shook her head and wiped her eyes.

“It’s alright, lass, you don't have to tell it if it's too hard.”

“No, no it's not that,” she said softly, voice thick with emotion.  “It's that there’s been so much happen since I left Storybrooke that I don't know quite where to start.”

Emma's lips curved downwards grimacing, whether at her friends’ statement or at something else he couldn't be sure.  He had a feeling Emma played a part in Ruby’s story, and that thought was what was causing her distress.  He reached over and took her hand, squeezing tenderly in a show of strength and solidarity with his new partner.

_Whatever she has to say, it's not going to change what I see in you._

He was rewarded with a smile for his efforts, a small one but still a smile.  That she didn't pull back from his hand encouraged him to leave it there.  In fact, she squeezed back and didn't seem all that anxious to be free from his touch. 

“I just,” Ruby began softly, “I couldn't go back, not after Graham, and Victor, well he… He offered me a place here as a nurse of sorts, so I just stayed.  Fabled Story will always be a part of me but, I just had a hard time connecting to anyone back home.  Especially Snow.”

All were quiet at the mention of Snow White, Killian had known her and her partner the Huntsman in years gone by.  He knew the fate of the Huntsman too, and felt a pang of guilt in remembrance.  Emma may have felt guilt at not being able to save him, but Killian felt the impact of his death profoundly as well.  _It was my fault.  It was all my fault._

“I've met some great people here, and I've even joined another operative organization, Emerald City.  My boss, she’s…” Ruby’s face flushed as she paused trying to find the right words, “She’s something else, Ems, you would like her a lot.”  Ruby’s cheeks were scarlet, and Killian knew he was looking at the face of someone who was deeply in love with her paramour. 

“That's fabulous, Ruby!  I had always thought you and Victor…”

“Oh, no… Yeah, we tried that, but when I met Dorothy –“

“Love at first sight?”  Emma smiled at her friend.  Ruby dipped her head coquettishly and placed the mug to her lips taking another sip.

“Something like that.”

As if on cue, Victor Whale, the much beleaguered Doctor exited his parlour-turned-operating room with a heavy sigh.  He shook his head at Ruby when she extended the coffee cup in her hand to him and made his way over to the makeshift bar top holding a decanter of whiskey pouring himself a large glass without thoughts of his guests.  He wandered in front of Killian, gesturing with a hand to the closed parlour door.

“Your friend is a very lucky man, Mister…?”

“Jones.  Killian Jones, but most people call me by my more colourful moniker – Hook.”

This earned him a smirk from the good doctor and a roll of the eyes.  The man had an air of devil may care about him, as though he was too often embroiled in the injuries of the various companies’ operatives.   He wondered what kind of bill he’d get for his services towards Mr. Smee.  

“One of Neverland’s crew are you?” the doctor spat the question as though it was the bitterest brew.  There was a history here, between Malcolm Pan and Doctor Whale.  Something that wasn’t the prettiest, Killian could tell. 

“Don’t be an ass, Victor!  We can’t all pick and choose who we work for,” Ruby admonished with a glare.  Emma chuckled a little at that and squeezed his hand again, he’d almost forgotten she still held it. 

“And you Swan…  Saviour my ass!  You should be calling me the Saviour; the way I’m always patching up your messes I deserve it more!”

“That’s why we called you Frankenstein, Victor.  Ne’ery a clean stitch when patchwork men work so much better!”

There was much laughter then, from the three old friends, and while they waited for Smee to be better inclined to visitors in the parlour an evening of reminiscing and drinking was in order.  Through glasses of whiskey and rum, Emma told them why they were in England and gained the offer of assistance from Ruby and Emerald City if it would be needed.  Victor Whale continued to eye Killian suspiciously, but when they all retired for the night the good doctor left him with some parting words to remember. 

_“If you hurt so much as a hair on her head, you’ll find out why they really call me Frankenstein, Hook.  I can promise you that.”_

Apparently his growing affection for Emma Swan was less discreet than he thought, but he didn’t think that alone had prompted a threat from her old friend.  Perhaps the Saviour was removing a little bit of her armour, some of those walls tumbling down after all, especially given that she’d held his hand quite contentedly until she’d retired to bed.  If she could let her walls down for him, let him slide under that red leather armour…  Well, that was a challenge worth rising to the occasion for. 

It was then that Killian knew that he was in deep, no matter how this op turned out.

* * *

 

 

_Fighting erupted again today on the streets of Paris, the fourth act of violence in the past month.  The citizens of world wait with baited breath to hear news of the recapture of Zelena de Lautour while the police say the man hunt is ongoing, they ask for patience.  Various groups have taken to fighting in the streets and security around the world is on high alert with the criminal mastermind at large._

 

* * *

 

They’d disembarked fairly quickly, through security and found their luggage breezily.  Roland’s little legs were wrapped tightly about her hips and his head snuggled into her neck as she cradled his bottom with her arm.  It was hard to believe this little four-year-old with his mop of curls and his dimpled smile had only been a part of her life for less than a year.  Regina adored him just as much as she adored Henry, and she’d been there for him since his third or fourth day of life on Earth so that was saying something.  She leaned her cheek onto the top of his head as her free arm tugged on the rolling bag behind her and tried to adjust the strap of the carry-on by shrugging her shoulder.  Mary Margaret and David were ahead of her, Henry’s hand locked firmly in David’s and little Neal was peeking at her over Mary Margaret’s shoulder.  She was glad to have them here with her.  She couldn’t imagine being a frazzled single mother of two in an airport, even if she wasn’t a single mother anymore – Robin just couldn’t be pulled away from his op to meet them. 

“Mama?”

“Yes, little man?”

“We’re going to see Papa soon, right?”

“Mmmhmmm, I promise you we will go see your father right after we get settled,” Regina just hoped she wasn’t lying to him.  These missions could be tricky, she knew, but she trusted Robin to be safe.  He’d been doing this alone for a while now, he wouldn’t put himself in too much danger when there was so much for him to come home to. 

The party ahead of her came to an abrupt stop and Mary Margaret turned to her with questioning eyes.  Regina couldn’t see what was troubling her friend, there was something that was not right ahead, that was for sure.  As she got closer, ever clack of her heels on the tile seemed to echo and boom.  Something felt – wrong. 

“Did you call - ?”

Regina caught sight of the man with shaggy blonde hair and the sign that read “Mills” across it.  She hadn’t arranged a car because she didn’t need to, there was a car in the lot at Heathrow waiting for them – Robin had assured her and told her what desk to pick up the keys from.  She shook her head once then tipped her cheek back on top of Roland’s head.  David had leaned in to Henry and was whispering something in his ear that brought a stoic nod from the boy. 

“Let’s go get the van and get out of here,” she whispered to Mary Margaret as she began to lead the group.  The shaggy blonde looked at her expectantly, but she steered the group away from him and deeper into the terminal in search of the correct booth. 

Regina was setting a brisk pace, weaving through baggage and travellers in search of souvenirs and rental cars.  Four minutes.  Five minutes.  The clack of her heels keeping time with her heart.  It wasn’t long before Henry hustled up to her and fell in to step beside them. 

“Hey Roland, wanna hold my hand and walk buddy?  I saw some toys just up ahead, we could go and take a look?”

Henry’s glance over his shoulder at the Nolan’s made Regina pause and set the boy down.  As she did she snuck a look at the path behind them.  Her first visual sweep of the landscape showed no trace of the sign holding miscreant.  Her second still showed nothing but it showed David Nolan much more on guard and Mary Margaret who had moved into a nearby vendor’s stall with the baby so that they were out of any sightlines. 

“Be a good boy and stay with Henry, Roland,” she kissed the little boy on the cheek and ruffled Henry’s hair as she straightened, “Don’t let go of him for a second, dear.”

The boys linked hands and started off.  Roland bubbled from the excitement of the toys that Henry was describing, and she could still hear his excited questions as she turned her full attention back to the matter at hand.  Someone knew they were here, and they were here for her at the very least.  Gold seemed a plausible candidate though the reports still had him in France.  Regina made her way to David for an update. 

“Well?”

“There’s still someone there with a sign, but it’s not our guy.”

Regina pursed her lips as she tried to run down the facts in her head.   When they’d exited the baggage claims area there was a slender man, tall, with shaggy blonde hair in a driver’s uniform holding a sign with her name on it despite the fact that neither Regina (nor Robin, because she knew he was not able to communicate right now due to the sensitivity of his current operation) had arrange.  Looking back from this vantage point further up the concourse, she could still see a slender man with shaggy blonde hair, though it was quite obviously a wig and wasn’t quite the same style beneath a driver’s cap that the first man hadn’t been wearing.  Just where had their mark gone?

“Did you – “

“No, we were moving forward.  They probably switched out when you were weaving us through that class tour group.”

“Dammit Charming!  Can’t you keep your eyes of the prize for a second when Snow isn’t involved?”

“Hey, now, Queenie!  Just because –“

Whatever witty retort David had been attempting to volley back at her died on his lips as an ear piercing scream came from further up the concourse.  Regina wheeled around to look and saw that Mary Margaret was already running down the concourse with baby Neal tightly grasped in her arms.  The scream had come from the stalls ahead where the boys were meant to be investigating the toys. 

“The boys!”

Their frantic screams came in unison as they tore off towards the gift shop.  Regina could run better in heels than most, but David’s no nonsense oxfords meant that he would reach the scene first.  A crowd was gathering around the shop, in to which Regina quickly lost sight of Mary Margaret and the baby.  David followed shortly thereafter and when she had finally managed to shove her way through the throng she saw the source of the commotion.  Mary Margaret and Neal were huddled on the ground beside a tiny ball of green and beige, dark curls and the shaking sobs were all that signified that this lump was a boy.  David stood nearby, animatedly exchanging words with Security and the shopkeep, who both seemed as agitated as the little boy shuddering on the ground.  

Regina pushed a step forward, willing one foot and then the other to move her body that seemed to have frozen in shock.  Henry was nowhere to be seen.  The clack of her heels startled Roland enough to look up towards the sound.  His chubby little cheeks stained with tears and his bottom lip trembled with every shudder of his body.    

“Mama!”

She couldn’t remember getting to her knees.  Regina’s mind didn’t process that her body had crossed the distance that separated her from Roland.  One minute she was standing, the next she’d propelled herself forward onto the tiles and scooped the little boy up in to her arms and crushed him to her chest.  She could hear him mumbling into her through sobs as she closed her eyes and kissed the top of his head with soothing hushing sounds. 

“Shhhhhh, shhhhhhh baby it’s ok.  You are ok.”

“Regina,” Mary Margaret rested a hand on her arm, “Regina, you’re crushing him!  Let him breathe!”

She didn’t want to loosen her grip.  She felt her body relax, ever so slightly, to give Roland room to breathe.  He gazed up at her, his eyes red from crying as he whispered something she could barely register.  Regina knew Henry was gone, knew that he’d been taken but couldn’t think of who would be so brazen as to kidnap him from one of the most highly secured areas in London. 

“We – we were…”

“Shhhhh, baby it ‘s ok,” she soothed again as Roland sucked in a shaky breath. 

“He – he came and he –“

Regina felt a hand press on to her shoulder and she turned her face upwards to see David Nolan.  He frowned and shook his head, telling her that the shop keeper hadn’t seen that much at all.  She closed her eyes and the tears began to fall.  Her Henry, her sweet boy had been taken because of who she was and what she had done. 

The missions hadn’t always been honourable, at least not when she had started out.  She didn’t know which of the unsavoury characters from her past had come back to haunt her, at least not with any certainty, but there was only one who would know just how to hurt her and find a way to make that happen.  Gold, it had to be Gold. 

“He – Henry – he said – “

Roland was still trying to get whatever it was out.  Regina was sure he’d been through enough, but she knew that anything that could lead them to Henry was going to come from the little boy and the sooner they had that information, the better.  There was no telling what could be happening to Henry right this very minute. 

“What did he say, Roland?” Mary Margaret’s sing-song voice was soft and soothing, coaxing the little boy to keep talking.  Regina couldn’t seem to formulate words.  All her strong willed nature and composed was lost, along with her eldest son. 

“He – he said,” Roland sniffled and rubbed his nose on his sleeve, “He pushed me down… he never fails… He took Henry and he said he never fails!”

“Did you recognize the man?  Had you ever seen him before?”

Regina felt his dissent to Mary Margaret’s question more than she heard it.  Never fails… The wheels were turning in her head, she could have sworn she’d heard that somewhere before, but where?  She tried to steel her body to the hollow feeling that was filling her chest.  Regina Mills knew pain and sorrow very well; in fact, they were the old friends. 

When Roland pulled himself free to get ice cream with Mary Margaret and Neal, something to sooth the tears, Regina sucked in a shaky breath as her body turned to rigid steel.  She would find him.  She would not rest until she had found her son – alive – and brought him home.  This wasn’t just a support mission anymore; it had become a rescue mission. 

“We should get to Sherwood and contact Robin and Emma.  See if this has anything to do with –“David paused mid thought, probably because he had noticed she was walking towards the stall she had been looking for all along, the stall with the keys to their vehicle, “Regina, where are you going?”

There was only one thing she could think of to say to that question.  There was only one thing that mattered right now at all.

“To save Henry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mama never told 'em there's a devil in me, I got a mouth full of rotten and a heart full of greed - [Shovels & Dirt](https://youtu.be/6fx3atxPp8M) \- The Strumbellas


	9. with our rain washed histories, well they do not need to be told

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Look at this, I'm getting another chapter out faster than I thought!!!! I want to thank you all - everyone who has been reading this little tale. You give me the inspiration to keep going, even though I know I would probably finish it on my own because I need to get the words out. 
> 
> Without further ado...

* * *

 

He was invisible, a ghost in the middle of the crowd.  Dark shades, non descript jeans and a pale blue tee paired with his black Chuck Taylor’s and his most comfortable blazer and scarf, Neal Cassidy could blend in with the hipster crowd at large.  He had a duffle bag slung across his chest as he waited for the walk signal at the light to change.  That was the beautiful part of living in New York, if you were made in one burrow, you could always find refuge in one of the others.  He’d packed up everything that he couldn’t bear to leave behind and made a quick get away from his apartment.  Couldn’t be sure who else knew he was there, and if August had bothered to write than it meant he was in danger of discovery. 

The light changed and he moved in time with the pedestrians around him.  Neal would not stand out; he would not draw attention to himself.  It would do no good to have all his hard work at disappearing for naught.  He had thought about a name change, thought that maybe he may need to go that far, but there were complications to that.  Ones he thought, a might selfishly, he didn’t really want to contend with again. 

He wandered down the street, covertly letting his eyes dart to-and-fro under the shielding deep tint of the sunglasses.  He was tired, honestly.  It wasn’t that she was any better than Emma or his son had been, it was just… Well that was a lifetime ago, a decade of running and hiding and not knowing when his father would finally find him.  Not knowing when or if he would find his mother out there.  Not knowing if anyone even missed him.  Oh sure, Emma would have missed him but she mourned him because really for all intents and purposed Neal Cassidy _was_ dead. 

What he had with Tamara… Well, he wasn’t going to dwell on that but it was something good.  Something good that he hadn’t had in a long while.  Something that he hadn’t honestly felt before, a feeling of home and belonging. 

He hadn’t seen a thing out of place on his walk today to pick Tamara up from the office for lunch.  Neal paused briefly at the coffee stand only blocks from her office, where they had first met.  He thought about that day, about the coffee she had wound up wearing rather than drinking and the scarf that he had parted with to cover the offending stain before her big presentation.  He thought of the delicate curve of her mouth, her lips turning up in a smile at her knight in shining armour.  She’d captivated him from the first. 

“Well, hello young fellow!”

Neal smiled at the vendor, pulling his shades up onto his forehead.  The old man at the coffee stand had always been kind to him, and he saw that he was already preparing his usual, two large coffees one black and one with cream and a spoonful of sugar. 

“Morning Mr.  Thompson!  How’s that son of yours doing?” Neal responded jovially, stepping closer to the stand and pulling his wallet from the inner pocket of his blazer. 

Greg Thompson, the grandson of the kindly vendor had been the one helping his grandfather the day that he and Tamara had met, coincidentally her favourite coffee stop because she and Greg had gone to school together at NYU.  If it hadn’t been for Greg, and the need of some encouragement from a friend, Neal might never have collided with Tamara and spilled his coffee.  That made Greg a great man in his books. 

“Ah, that boy!  He’s had a promising interview with a firm up the street,” Mr. Thompson smiled as he stirred the sugar and cream into the coffee cup, “I’ll be happy if it means I get to see more of him.  He hasn’t made much at Legal Aid, and Brooklyn is a long way from Manhattan for an old fellow like me to travel!”

“I’ll be sure to keep my fingers crossed for him,” Neal smiled as he exchanged cash for his cups of coffee.  “Keep the change, as always!  Have a great day, Mr. Thompson!”

“You too, my lad, you too!”

The lines about the older man’s eyes crinkled with his smile.  He seemed much too young to have a grandson in his thirties.  He was certainly spry for his age, and was always helped out by one of his children or grandchildren at the stall.  Greg was one of many, but he’d been raised by the older man after the death of his father and Neal supposed that was what had kept the man so young in body and in spirit. 

He held the black coffee gingerly atop the one with cream, the black was scalding hot but the other wasn’t as hot on his hands so balancing was the best bet.  He rounded the corner on to East 57th and followed it up towards Tamara’s office building on 5th.  Something told him that he should hold back here for a minute, there was something in the air that boded him an ill will should he even contemplate his usual trek past the Starbucks on the corner.  Like there was something…

A figure appeared in the doorway and Neal warily ducked his head, though kept his eyes on the lanky body of the stranger.  A man, tall with dark hair and dark glasses holding a Venti of some kind of iced latte concoction, strolled out of the coffee shop and proceeded to lean his body against the lamp post.  Shit.  He’d known that this was too good to be true, and with Tamara’s building just on the opposite corner, Neal would have to wait to cross at the signal right by that very light. 

Neal lifted his head with purpose and began walking towards the signal light.  His eyes kept darting to the stranger who had folded his arms across his chest and turned his face up to the buildings above.  He looked like your average business man, not at all out of place on the street in his dark suit and tie.  If he wasn’t so acutely on guard for anything suspicious, Neal thought that he probably wouldn’t have noticed the man at all.  But he was on his guard and that made this man inconspicuous as shit on a hot summer day.  There was a slight golden hue to the hair, and a wave of sorts that was vaguely familiar though he couldn’t place it. 

Neal started to quicken his pace, heading towards the signal light with purpose.  Would his father’s goons grab him in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight?  Probably not, but they were well trained in those tactics if they worked for Robert Gold and they could possibly pull it off.  He was inching ever closer to the light, though the throng of business men and tourists alike made it almost impossible to do so.  The man was an oddity leaning against the lamp post, seemingly oblivious to the push and pull of the foot traffic around him. 

Five steps… Four.  He could feel the perspiration beginning to bead on his forehead. 

Three… Two…

“You really have kept me waiting, Cassidy.  I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.”

Neal’s foot stopped in mid stride of the final step and he stumbled to a stop right in front of the man.  He knew that voice.  It wasn’t a surprise, he knew it and he knew that he should really be running rather than standing here gaping dumbfounded at the visitor before him. 

“Didn’t know you were coming… To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A chuckle emitted from the lounging figure as Neal tried to right himself and the cups in his hands.  The brief desire to run flitted through his mind, but then he realized that there was nowhere he could go that he couldn’t be found.  Might as well get it over with. 

“You still know how to crack jokes in the face of danger, don’t you?”

“I try,” Neal ducked his head with a wry smile.

“You know I’ve watched over them, I’ve tried to keep them safe from the hand of your father, but something has happened.  Something that may require a little help from you.”

Neal’s head shot up at that.  Oh he’d known that something was going really, really wrong the second he’d got that postcard.  He just hadn’t thought anything would have gone so wrong as to need intervention from him. 

“Alright then, August,” Neal sucked in a breath before going on, “Maybe you should fill me in a little before my fiancée’s coffee gets cold.”

 

* * *

 

_Zelena de Lautour is still on loose after the bombing of the maximum security prison she had been held in.  Sightings have turned up in numerous locales, while word from Interpol has been quiet on the status of her recapture.  Stay tuned for more updates as they come._

 

* * *

 

She was so beautiful, the lines about her eyes and the furrow of her brow as she frowned her disapproval the only marker of her age.  He felt a tightening in his chest, an ache that he hadn’t felt in… How long had it been now?  How long since this day?

_“My darling, it will be but a few hours.  Just a quick sortie and then I will be back here in your arms and all will be right with the world!”_

The scene played out inside his head.  Kissing Milah goodbye, swearing to return as soon as possible and then stepping out of the townhouse and finding the dark sedan of Malcolm Pan waiting at the end of the drive. 

_“Thought I should come get you if I wanted you to actually make an appearance on your day off!”_

He’d gotten in the car and left, thinking he would see her again.  He’d gotten in the car and headed off, not knowing she wouldn’t be there when he got back. 

He always woke from this particularly hellish nightmare when they came in to the briefing room to tell him.  A car bomb.  Sometimes he dreamt that she had managed to leave him a message on his mobile, that she had been able to say her last goodbye to him knowing she was heading for her death.  The only thing he had was a message that she was going to cook something fabulous for dinner and he should get a nice bottle of wine on the way home.  He had saved it, couldn’t bear to delete it and lose the last trace of her voice from his life only to haunt him in his dreams. 

Tonight was no different, when he woke he could still see every detail of the moment.  Every single tear that he’d shed, every tear that he continued to shed, and felt the guilt that day implied.  Killian raked his fingers through his hair.  If sleep was to be this kind of torture, he didn’t dare close his eyes again!

It was still dark, but the hazy light of dawn was starting to grow on the horizon.  He hadn’t heard any commotion from Smee’s room downstairs, so he assumed his mate was still well, but as rest was so evasive this evening…  Killian stood fumbling in the soft morning light to locate the pants and shirt he had carelessly shrugged aside the night before. 

There wasn’t anything he could do about the past.  Not a moment in the darkness or the light that could change that.  He had lived so many years in the dark now, so many years wasted down in the depths of a bottle.  Recklessly grasping at straws, he had never yet made real contact with the devil who’d taken away her light, who had taken away _his_ light. 

He hadn’t known that there could be light again, that there could be a lightness in his chest despite the dangers that he faced every day.  He hadn’t known, at least not until he’d met Emma Swan, that he could live again.  He was hunting Gold to offer Milah the justice that she deserved, and that justice would be his sweetest revenge. 

 

* * *

 

Emma splashed cold water onto her face in an effort to rouse herself.  Sleep had been fitful, at best, throughout the remainder of the night.  She could hear Mr. Smee and his querulous demands of food and drink and “a little something for the pain” through the vents in the floor.  He seemed to be making a miraculous recovery, and all to the good.  She wondered if Killian knew that his friend was awake and wanting as well. 

“Don’t trouble yourself, Doctor.”

When she heard his dismissal, a smile curved her lips in satisfaction.  He wouldn’t let his man feel pain or want for anything if he could help himself.  There was something good in his soul, despite the reckless and wanton behaviours he’d been known for.  She wondered if he’d slept at all, as she dragged the brush through her tangled blonde curls, and then shook her head in dismissal.  She shouldn’t be worried about him, what would that prove?  She needed him only to be well and ready to take on Gold.  There wasn’t room in her life for anything else. 

“He’s your problem for now then, but I doubt the clout will be ready to be on his way anytime soon at which point I’ll endeavour not to kill him out of spite.”

Victor was angry.  She blew out a sigh and continued her brushings.  She guessed that would be her fence to mend, and she pulled her locks back into a messy bun atop her head.  She wasn’t normally one to wear her hair back from her face, but there was little that they could do today and seeing as that was the case, she was bound to relax herself as best she could while they formulated a plan.  A jingle emitted from her phone, startling her back from her reveries. 

_We need a Saviour._

It was from David – she knew that Regina wouldn’t have traveled to England without the boys, but she hadn’t thought she would bring any more agents with her.  She’d brought David, but would David have gone anywhere without Mary Margaret?

Another jingle and she had her answer.

_Emma we need you.  Sherwood ASAP – this is delicate._

Mary Margaret was here too, but what could be so delicate to require her to come in to Sherwood Forest?  She tapped out a hasty reply before running down to alert Hook of the change in plans. 

**_Me and at least one guest inbound._ **

She grabbed her red leather jacket from the edge of the bed and slid it on like a protective shield, ready to go to war.

 

* * *

 

 

_Newlyweds on the move!  Robert Gold was seen with the newly minted Mrs. Gold at Charles de Gaulle Airport this morning.  Sources say the Golds are headed for a little honeymoon in the English countryside.  Can they be headed to his family estate to open up the residence after so many years’ absence?  TMZ will have all the news you need to know!_

* * *

 

 

She wasn’t free.  Whatever idiot believed that she was behind all of this, the secret player in this wicked little game, they didn’t know the chains that he held above her head.  Oh he’d freed her alright, but he hadn’t gotten her any closer to being free!  She tossed the newspaper she’d been thumbing through into the recycling bin and stood up from the bench. 

Zelena tugged on the hat that was doing its best to shield her from the sun as it was to hide her very obvious red locks.  That would be one dead giveaway if anyone managed to see her in this crowd.  Why on Earth he’d chosen to meet her here, in so public a place…  Well, not everyone could be a criminal mastermind with psychopathic tendencies!

Still, Hyde Park was beautiful at this time of year – especially when the weather was so fair.  She couldn’t discount the beauty before her eyes, though.  The entire park was in bloom, a fire of tulips in assorted colours, hyacinth, lavender… It was a sensation for the senses. 

“I thought I told you…”

“The prodigal returns!  And late, as always,” she admonished her visitor though she hadn’t turned to acknowledge him yet.  He stood behind her and to the right, perfect distance to inflict some serious damage with the blade she kept sheathed at her hip. 

“You know I had other things to take care of, but if this is to work you have to trust me implicitly.  You want to take out your sister, and I… Well, you know of my plans for my darling brother…”

It wasn’t that she wanted to kill Regina.  She hadn’t even known that Regina existed until about eleven years before, when she’d found out the truth of her own parentage.  The man she had always believed to be her father had told her about he and his wife finding her on their doorstep, a note attached saying her name was Zelena and that she needed their love.  Fat lot of love the de Lautours had given her!  Her mother, oh she had loved her, but as for James de Lautour… She just wanted to make her suffer, for being able to have the life she should have been given with a mother who loved her. 

“I’ll help you, so long as you guarantee my freedom at the end of this little sojourn.”

Once this job was over, Zelena de Lautour never wanted to lay eyes on Malcolm Pan ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with our rain washed histories, well they do not need to be told - [Called Out In the Dark](https://youtu.be/GwTXwJg6_VE) \- Snow Patrol


	10. let me out, let me out, LET ME OOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> No, I have not abandoned this story - 2017 was the year of things breaking for me. First, there was my laptop. Oh man, you have no idea how much that hurt!!! I have never felt more disconnected in my entire life as I did without a laptop - TRUE STORY!!! 
> 
> Then, there was the promise of my hard drive being intact (at least enough to get most of my files off of) and in the end not being in anywhere near the condition that was promised. Note to self, do not allow family members to be your computer repair techs if they do not know the last thing about computers. You would think this would have been self evident, but my cousin is a good liar... So all of the work that I had (unless backed up in OneDrive or my Dropbox Account... GONE! I had a story I had written for a Valentine's giveaway that was a Definitely, Maybe AU for CS that was ridiculously long and honestly perfect and lost all of that. RGG was in both Dropbox **_and_** OneDrive at varying states of progress. The longest and what turned out to be the most recent file was the one loaded to OneDrive - and that is where I found this little bit tacked on. So, I thought I would give it to you as a New Year's gift and promise that I will return and so will my stories.
> 
> In 2017, I was left wallowing in the dust, unable to motivate myself to place my hands to the keyboard and type out the remainder of this tale. I present to you, an interlude. Something that was supposed to be a random scene within a larger chapter but that while playing in Scrivener last night trying to get this one into the program and on to my new laptop (and to be organized and beautifully planned rather than the collection of files and ringed notebooks/napkins/post its that it was before) realized that it didn't fit except as an interlude. Believe me, I was the Queen of post its and bar napkins with ideas on them - Scrivener much better!
> 
> Here's to 2018 being wonderful (and less broken) to us all!
> 
> \- xo Kate

 

* * *

 

Cold.  His feet were cold.  And wet. 

His feet were cold and wet and just where on Earth was he?  He had been in the airport with his mother, and Roland… He had taken Roland to look at the toys in the store up ahead because something was about to go down and then…  He may be nine (almost ten, thank you very much) years old but he understood the dangers of what his mother did for a living, and something was going down but…

But it was going to be him – they had wanted him and he had let them take him because he was terrified they would hurt Roland.  Roland was just a little boy, he was bigger – he could handle it because that’s what heroes do.  They protected people who weren’t as strong as they are, and Henry had always wanted to be a hero… Almost as much as he had wanted to be a big brother, and Roland gave him his chance to be both. 

There was something on his head… It was dark and scratchy, but it was definitely something on his head.  Was it a bag?  No, it wasn’t like anything he had ever felt before.  Almost like an old timey potato sack… Oh, he had just done that in history class!  What were those called again and why couldn’t he remember?

_Bump!_

Wherever they were going, they weren’t there yet because he could feel….

_Bump bump!_

A car maybe…. Or a truck, but he was in some kind of vehicle.  He couldn’t feel the distinctive clicking of rails, this was definitely pavement or bridge seams.  His mother had taught him why it was important to take stock of where he was when he was unsure, and that training was coming back to him by instinct.  She’d always been afraid for him though she could never really understand why anyone would want to hurt him.  Henry was only a little boy, but he was Henry Daniel Mills and he was an important little boy - that much he understood. 

It wasn’t that he was anyone special himself, because his mother and Emma and David and Mary Margaret and well everyone he knew thought he was the most special boy they had ever met, it was that he was Regina Mills’ son.  He guessed he would be doubly important now because not only was he the son of Regina Mills but he was also the step-son of Robin Locksley.  But why would they have taken just him and not both he and Roland then if that made him doubly important?  Maybe it was because he was the eldest and they would assume he was the one who would take over if anything happened to his parents’ kind of like how a Prince inherits a kingdom from his parent when the King and Queen are dead. 

_Bump bump!_

They were still in motion at least.  Not that he could feel that they were moving but he could feel whenever they went over the bumps or cracks in the pavement… But where were they going?  And just what was going to happen to him when they finally stopped?

_Bump bump! Bump bump!_

More forceful thumping, kind of like going over a curb, but enough to make his body bounce and hit both roof and floor of the place his captors had put him and they weren’t really that far apart.  He tried stretching out his body as far as he could and met resistance with his toes.  Yup, he was sure of it now. 

They had him locked in the trunk of a car and he had no idea just when he would be getting out…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me out, let me out, LET ME OOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTTTTTT! - [Locked in the Trunk of a Car](https://youtu.be/9-WBZMRFFkU?t=3m53s) \- The Tragically Hip

**Author's Note:**

> don't let me darken your door, it's not what I came here for - [Reminder - Mumford & Sons](https://youtu.be/S1OAcRVw7js)


End file.
